


In the end it's easy

by mikhailosbitch



Series: Somehow we make it [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Different Points of View, Drinking, Friendship, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Love, M/M, Mickey in Mexico, Post Season 7, Road Trip, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikhailosbitch/pseuds/mikhailosbitch
Summary: I thought that I should take the bottle away from him so he wouldn’t drink himself unconscious or worse but I couldn’t. Mickey was holding onto this bottle like it was his life-saver.Ripping it out of his hands clenching around the glass would feel like letting him drown in his despair.I felt tears burning in my eyes as I watched him. How the hell could I stop this? How could I help?His sight caused a sting in my heart because I didn’t know how. How to make it better.





	1. On the road

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is something I imagined that could happen after season 7.
> 
> I'm sorry for the mistakes, English isn't my first language.
> 
> Oh, and feedback would be much appreciated!

Holy fucking shit! Three freakin’ minutes was all I had asked for, god I had to pee and then they just left. And now I was standing here alone in the desert in the middle of nowhere. _Well done Lilly_ , I told myself, well done.

 

I looked around. There was nothing but dirt, dust and tiny nearly dried out plants around me. Except for the black asphalt of the endless road I was standing on. It would take days maybe weeks to walk it. Not the best idea without food, warm clothes for the cold as fuck nights and most importantly water.

But I couldn’t stay here either. The minivan, full of creepy nerds going to attend some shitty science competition, that had taken me and then just left me when I was taking too long, in their opinion, wouldn’t come back and I had absolutely no idea how much time would pass until the next car would show up. Shit.

 

Although I knew it was absolutely stupid to even try, I pulled out my phone and searched for a signal. As I expected there wasn’t one. I couldn’t do much else than wait or walk so I decided to walk. Maybe there would be some kind of miracle, making the road in front of me only a couple miles long until it reached the next city. Probably not but I started walking anyway.

 

It was weird. In my whole life I had never been this alone. Sure I was lonely most of the time but the desert surrounding me made me feel like I was the only person in the world. Made me feel free in kind of a fucked up way.

The sun was shining, there weren’t any clouds in the sky above me but since it was the beginning of fall it wasn’t hot, only like 20°C. The road underneath my feet was full of cracks, the yellow marks on it almost faded. I was literally at the end of the world and had absolutely no idea how to get out of it.

 

I walked for hours, rubbing my hands trying to keep them from getting too cold since it was getting chillier with the day ending. My feet had begun to hurt about three hours ago but I didn’t stop. Not until I would find a spot where I could spend the night. It was gonna get freezing cold and my jacket was way too thin to keep warm so I really needed something to prevent me from shivering to death. Even if it was just a rock I could crawl behind to hide from the upcoming icy wind.

But there was nothing. Nothing I could use for protection, just dust around me and this fucking infinite road. The rumbling in my stomach and the dryness in my mouth because of the lack of food and water didn’t really help lightening my mood.

At least I wasn’t tired. Not really since I had had a few hours of sleep in that van with the nerds until they had left me behind because I had to pee.

 

The sun was almost gone by now and I knew it wouldn’t make any sense to keep walking when it was pitch dark but I still couldn’t find anything to get through the night with, so none of my fingers would freeze off.

I was about to give up and just try to wrap my jacket around me as tight as possible when I heard something behind me.

 

A car.

Holy shit, a fucking car.

I turned around and got blinded by the lights of the approximating vehicle that was driving very fast. I didn’t really know what led me to that more than dangerous decision but I did it.

I ran to the center of the road and stayed there, while the car was rushing closer, waving my arms in order to get the attention of whoever was driving.

But it didn’t slow down. Fuck, I was going to get run over by this thing. I closed my eyes, unable to move but not wanting to see me get crashed.

 

But then I heard tires gripping hardly on the street and squeaking brakes.

I opened my eyes again and saw that the car had stopped right in front of me. It was a shabby dark green estate car, probably pretty old but I barely paid attention to that because now the door opened and a guy got out of said car.

“Holy shit, are you okay?!” he asked, staring at me and then obviously remembering that we were in Mexico “Estás bien?”

“Yeah. And English please” I answered and as soon as he heard that his concern was replaced by anger.

“The fuck do you stand in the middle of the road! There’s easier ways to kill yourself.”

“Woo woo” I said, holding my hands up in defense, “Who said I wanna kill myself. Okay maybe it sorta looks like it but I just need a fucking ride.”

 

He was still glaring at me and I eyed him as well. He must be in his early  twenties and was kind of short, about 1.70m maybe. His hair was black just like his jacket and he was wearing dark jeans and brown boots.

This probably wasn’t the best time to ask for a ride but considering the fact that I was lacking of other options I tried to push away the idea that this guy might be a pedophile or a murderer or some shit and asked, “Could I go with you?”

 

He looked at me like I had just made the worst suggestion he had ever heard of but I was not gonna give up so easily. “Look, I really wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t in the middle of nowhere and you’re the first person I’ve seen in six hours. Besides the fact that it’s really fucking cold.”

He didn’t respond right away, glaring at me, clenching his hands into fists and biting his lip, clearly uncomfortable and anything but happy with the idea of picking me up.

 

But finally he sighed and I was pretty sure to hear a hushed “fuck” under his breath.

“Get in. But just so you know I’m only doing this because I’m not letting some lost girl freeze to death alone in the desert.”

“Thank you” was my response as I walked up to the passenger’s side and opened the door. The inside of the car looked as old as the outside but it was pretty clean actually. I peeked behind me to the back seat and saw a blanket laying there along with a hat, a few bottles of Gatorade and some Snicker’s bars. The guy got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He neither said anything nor looked at me.

 

The sky went black while we were driving and it was  also pretty dark in the car but there was no way I would be able to sleep right now. Besides that I wasn’t tired in the first place, sitting in a stranger’s car in the desert far off of any other people made me kind of nervous although said stranger hadn’t done anything to confirm my suspicions yet.

 

I didn’t know why but I had always been kind of curious. Always wanted to explore, meaning travelling. That was probably the reason why I ended up here in Mexico, leaving everything at home behind. Although I really appreciated my alone time I was also always interested in other people’s stories. It was kinda weird but somehow I really liked to hear about someone’s life, no matter how fucked up it was. I had met a lot of fucked up people on my way, east European prostitutes who were looking for a better life far away from home, people with giant backpacks seeking for an adventure, a grumpy drug dealer that gave me some decent weed, a mother with her two little children trying to get through the U.S. without any money, and many more.

 

And even though I knew this guy next to me didn’t want me here at all I couldn’t help wanting to get to know him. Find out about his story, why he was driving through the Mexican desert during the night. Since I wasn’t gonna get anything out of him any time soon, I decided to focus on the things I could find out about him without having to ask.

He must be an American since he hadn’t started talking in Spanish as he had nearly run me over and judging by his accent.

 

Okay what else? I looked around and saw a pack of Marlboro’s sitting on the dashboard. So he was a smoker and now I also noticed the hint of the smell of cigarettes surrounding him.

Then I glanced at the steering wheel, well right next to it. There was no key plugged in. Instead I saw some cables hanging out of the cover panel. I was surprised but not shocked. I had been around worse criminals than car thieves. But god knows what else he had done.

 

However, freaking out was definitely not an option so I continued my silent research trying to distract myself and not think about the idea that I might had just made the worst decision in my life by getting in this car.

Now I looked at the guy himself. His hands were clenched around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. There was a letter tattooed on each of his fingers except his thumbs.

Even though it was really dark I was pretty sure they said FUCK U-UP. Not really calming.

The guy’s hair was short on the sides and a little bit longer on top of his head. It kinda looked really good. While his hair was black, his skin was pale. I couldn’t be sure which color his eyes were since it was so dark but I assumed they were blue.

What caught me wasn’t trying to figure out his eye color. It was the look in his eyes. His gaze was focused on the road in front of us but I could still see the mix of emotions in them.

Hurt and anger and pain. There was no doubt he was suffering hell.

But why?

 

“The fuck are you lookin’ at!” he snapped as he caught me staring.

“Nothing.” I quickly looked away but I didn’t miss the way his eyes were suddenly filled with tears but he refused to let them drop. It felt like me looking at him had triggered a memory.

 

We remained silent and drove for about an hour until he pulled off the road and stopped the car.

“Better get some sleep” he said and reached behind him, grabbed the blanket and handed it to me. “How about you take this and I get the back seat?”

I nodded. This was more than he had to do. I clearly was nothing but an unwanted burden to him but he gave me his only blanket anyway.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever” he muffled before he got out of the car and back in in the back seat.

A bottle of Gatorade landed in my lap that he had thrown from behind.

I watched him through the rearview mirror as he adjusted himself in the small space in the back of the car. Even though he wasn’t really tall it couldn’t be comfortable for him.

 

“What’s your name?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

I didn’t expect to get an answer so I was surprised when a couple seconds later I heard,

“Mickey.”

“That short for something?” Shit, it was hard to stop me once I would start asking questions.

“Mikhailo. But I’m going by Mickey.” The following silence told me that he probably hadn’t planned on saying that but he had anyway.

“Ukrainian?”

“Yeah.” His response was quiet and his voice sounded surprised by the fact that I had guessed the heritage of his name so easily. I forced myself to quit the questions for now, knowing I shouldn’t provoke my luck. Probably better to be patient if I wanted to find out more abut Mickey.

 

For a while the only noise I heard was the wind trying to get in the old vehicle and I thought he, Mickey, had fallen asleep so I was caught a bit off guard when he suddenly asked, “Yours?”

“Lilly.”

 

I tried my best at getting comfortable in my seat, the blanket pulled up to my chin. According to my phone it took me more than two hours until I finally dozed off into an uneasy sleep.

 

The next morning I was woken up by the sunlight peeking through the windows. I stretched my limbs that were sore from the position I had slept in although this was nothing new to me. During the past few months I had barely spent a night in a real bed.

I turned around to find the backseat empty. Looking out of the window I spotted  Mickey sitting on a rock, staring in the distance. He seemed like he was somewhere completely else in his mind and even though he was like 10 meters away from me I could feel him radiating sadness. Whatever was bugging him, it must be devastating, slowly but steady eating him away.

And shit, I needed to figure out what it was. I grabbed one of the Gatorades that were still laying on the back seat and thought about whether it was better to eat Snicker’s or nothing for breakfast when the idea, that there might be something edible in the trunk too, crossed my mind. So I got out of the car and opened the hatch. Mickey didn’t even look in my direction. I was quite surprised when I saw all the stuff he carried with him.

There was several sets of clothes one of them for a female, a bag with tools, three books, a little bag that most likely contained toiletries, two six packs of beer, eight large bottles of water, a jerry can and five boxes, three of them full of food. I took out two buns before I closed the trunk and made my way up to Mickey. He barely looked at me as I came into his sight and put the Gatorade and one of the buns next to him.

“Is it okay if I eat that?” I asked holding up the other one. He just slightly nodded and turned his gaze back to the horizon. I was pretty sure this was his way of telling me to fuck off, without actually phrasing the words, so I went back to the car and sat down in the passenger seat but left the door open to get some of the fresh morning air. It was sort of cold right now but would heat up during the day so I was happy to breathe in the chilly wind blowing up the sand under my feet. Since my hike yesterday my runners were already pretty dirty.

 

We stayed there at our spot, which wasn’t an actual spot, just an invisible place in the infinity of the desert, the whole day. Mickey was chain smoking one cigarette after the other – I really appreciated the fact that he didn’t do it inside the car, neither touched the bun nor the Gatorade.

 

While I was waiting I tried to occupy myself which was hard since my phone had died last night and I wouldn’t dare to ask Mickey for a charger plus getting electricity from his car battery.

First I threw small rocks next to a bigger one as close as possible but unsurprisingly this didn’t really make time fly. So I took the notebook, that I had since I was in fifth grade, out of my backpack that was sitting on the floor below my seat. There was always a pen attached to it so I could write something down whenever I felt the need to do so. This notebook basically contained all my experiences since I was ten years old, meaning it held seven years of my life. Especially the last two had taken up a lot of pages but there were still plenty left because it was a thick notebook. The next thirty minutes I wrote down all the things that had happened to me during the last couple days but since that wasn’t very much, unless you consider driving through the desert of Mexico most of the day much, I was done pretty quickly and Mickey was still sitting in the same position, not seeming like he would move any time soon.

 

I debated whether I should ask him. About whatever was digging into him but I had the feeling that he would shut me off the second I dared to ask anything about that, and maybe even leave me here in the middle of nowhere.

 

I spent the rest of the day trying to sleep since I had been pretty restless during the night but it didn’t work at all. It was getting dark again and my stomach started rumbling so I got a bag of chips and two beers out of the trunk before I walked towards Mickey again.

 

Maybe the upcoming night covering the world in shadows and darkness gave me the courage I needed because I sat down in the dust next to Mickey who was sitting on the ground now, his back leaning against the rock he had been sitting on the whole day.

I opened both of the bottles and gave one to Mickey, okay I put it next to the untouched bun and Gatorade since he didn’t show any reaction to my sudden closeness. Well, at least this was something. He didn’t give me any sign to leave him alone and I was glad about that.

I ripped open the bag of chips and placed them between us. The only noise was the food crunching under my teeth while I was staring into the black night surrounding us.

 

Twenty minutes later I had finished my beer and the chips all by myself and felt guilty for eating all of Mickey’s food while he didn’t even look at it. But I couldn’t help being hungry and him not eating was kinda getting a problem in my opinion.

I was about to get up and grab something else to eat but then Mickey suddenly stood up. He went to the back of the car. I heard the hatch opening and closing and then he reappeared, holding a bottle made out of glass, that contained  a clear liquid. Vodka.

Fuck.

 

He sat back down next to me, more space between us than before, and removed the cap from the bottle. He brought it to his lips and I started counting the seconds while he was drinking. Eventually I stopped even though Mickey hadn’t put the bottle down yet.

 

The next hour, maybe longer, was just him taking more gulps of vodka, staring at some invisible spot in the darkness and me watching him. Unable to tear my eyes off the sorrow taking place right next to me.

At first I only glanced at him every couple minutes, didn’t want to get caught staring. But with more time passing and the liquid in the bottle getting less, Mickey’s eyes completely lost their focus, trailing off in the blur of the alcohol in his veins, and I kept looking at him because I knew he didn’t care anymore.

 

I thought that I should take the bottle away from him so he wouldn’t drink himself unconscious or worse but I couldn’t. Mickey was holding onto this bottle like it was his life-saver.

Ripping it out of his hands clenching around the glass would feel like letting him drown in his despair.

I felt tears burning in my eyes as I watched him. How the hell could I stop this? How could I help?

His sight caused a sting in my heart because I didn’t know how. How to make it better.

 

At some point the bottle slipped out of his hands as their grip around it loosened and landed in the dust, the little amount of liquid that was left in it spilling and seeping away into the ground.

Cold was creeping up on my skin and I shivered but there was no way I would leave Mickey out here in the condition he was currently in. I stood up and took the blanket out of the car. Then I went back to Mickey and sat down, so close our legs were touching and wrapped the blanket around us to keep warm.

He didn’t react, just let me do.

 

The air around us became colder with every minute that passed but we stayed still in the same position. I had the feeling that we were inside a little bubble, just us against the desert and the only thing we had to do in order to survive was resisting the cold and refusing to give up and get into the slightly warmer car.

 

But eventually we had to give up. It was just too cold. I stood up and tried my best at heaving Mickey as well. Careening like a boat in a storm we made our way to the car and I helped him getting into the back seat. We were both shivering by now so I decided to fuck it and also climbed into the back seat. We couldn’t lie down because there wasn’t enough room but this way we wouldn’t freeze to death. Mickey didn’t protest but he had reached a point where he didn’t give a fuck about anything anymore, a couple hours ago. He was sitting next to me, covered in one half of the blanket, eyes closed.

I grabbed his hat and pulled it over his head. I looked at him, took in every detail of his face, the straight bridge of his nose, his long eyelashes, the dark eyebrows.

He had a nice face, rugged by anger, fear, pain and disappointment but still nice. There were scars on his skin, barely visible but definitely there. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know how he had gotten them, same for his hands that had several scars on them as well.

Whatever Mickey had experienced before I met him, must have been rough and terrible and the wish to find out what it was, kept digging into me while I slowly dozed off.

 

When I woke up the next morning I realized that we were driving even before I opened my eyes. I could feel the car juddering on the bumpy road and I thought this really annoying movement was probably what had caused me to wake up. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up. Judging from the bright blue sky it must be something before noon and I was surprised that I slept that long but considering the amount of sleep I had gotten during the last two weeks, passing out for a while had been kind of overdue. What I was really surprised about though was to see Mickey driving.

After he got so shitfaced yesterday, I thought we would have to spend another day in the same place, unable to hit the road but apparently Mickey was anything but a lightweight in terms of drinking. I wondered if he was a regular because of the way he was driving he seemed completely sober which was a miracle when I thought of the shape he had been in yesterday.

 

“Mornin’” I mumbled, voice dry, “What time is it?”

“Morning” he muffled back and continued, “around 11:30. You were pretty out of it.”

“Says the one who drank half a fucking bottle of vodka yesterday” was my response.

I didn’t want to sound offending but the words fell out of my mouth before I was able to keep them inside. I cursed at myself because my tongue formed words way too often before my brain was able to filter them but Mickey only said, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I mean we all have shitty days, right?”

He just nodded slightly and shrugged.

 

“You mind if I eat a Snicker’s bar?” I asked because my stomach felt beyond empty since the only thing I had eaten in the last 24 hours were chips. Another nod.

“There’s more Gatorade somewhere under the seat too.”

I poked around the space beneath the seat until I found said Gatorade, opened it and drank in big gulps. “Thanks.”

With that our conversation was over and we remained silent while we were rushing through the infinity of sand, raising a big cloud of dust behind us.

 

About nine hours, five villages, a stop at a gas station, one long break and several short ones later we reached a small town. There were only a few roads but the main street contained a shabby diner, a grocery store and a liquor store. Mickey pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and we got out of the car.

 

Our little shopping trip just meant throwing some bottles of water, Gatorade, and orange juice,, a couple bags of chips and other snacks, some buns, a few apples, tomatoes and smokes into the cart but the woman at the check still looked at us like we were the most inconvenient thing in the world right now. Seemed to forget that we were the only customers in this place at the moment and therefore her only source of income.

 

When we were done putting everything in the car and I had gotten rid of the cart, I wanted to get back in the passenger seat but Mickey had other plans. He headed towards the liquor store across the road. I sighed but followed him inside. The guy behind the counter didn’t seem to care if I was too young to enter this place and for that I was thankful.

 

While Mickey went to refill his beer supply I wandered through the aisles filled with all kinds of alcohol. I saw vodka, gin, Jägermeister, and there in the corner was my favorite.

I put a hand in the back pocket of my pants and searched for the money that had to be in there if I remembered correctly. My memory was right and I smiled as I pulled out three ten dollar bills. The sign on the shelf said that a bottle would cost 25 dollars so I took one and turned around just in time to see Mickey coming closer, carrying a six pack of beer.

 

“No” he said when he saw the bottle in my hand.

“Come on, I’m paying. All you gotta do is getting it out of here since I’m not eighteen yet.”

He shook his head, “That’s exactly why I won’t do it. You’re underage.”

“I’m fucking seventeen okay? And my birthday is in two months. But why do you care I’m pretty sure you started drinking way before it was legal for you.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to make the same mistakes as I did.”

“What are you? My mom?” I didn’t mean to sound pissed but couldn’t help it.

“No, but speaking of caretaking, how long do you plan on being a pain the ass because as you can see we’re in a fucking town now with plenty other people you can bug.”

 

That hurt. Even though I knew he hadn’t wanted to pick me up at all, I had started to believe that maybe I was more than someone you want to get rid off as fast as possible. Somehow I felt like we had created some weird kind of bond during the last couple days but apparently I was wrong.

And I couldn’t really blame him since he had never given me any reason to think that way.

 

But it still hurt and I didn’t really know why but I wanted to stay with Mickey. At least a little longer. Not only because I wanted to get to know him, since I knew that under the rough surface there was a broken guy inside, but also because somehow I felt connected to him. Like we were sort of similar.

“As far as I know you’re heading south and that’s where I wanna go. It’s probably gonna be hard to find someone else who would take me and not seem totally untrustworthy.”

He almost smiled as he said, “And I seemed trustworthy to you when I almost killed you?”

“It’s not like you intended to do that and even though you weren’t exactly what you could call friendly, it was kinda nice with you.”

He snorted as if he didn’t believe me but his eyes seemed less cool and the corners of his mouth moved up into a timid smile which he was trying to hide.

“Please”, I continued, “I’ll pay you back for the food and stuff an-“

“Just give me the goddamn bottle and wait in the car” he interrupted me and reached out his hand.

It was our luck that they still accepted US dollar here.

 

Darkness was settling onto the few buildings of the town as we drove into the desert again. I didn’t know how much money Mickey had but obviously he didn’t plan on wasting it on a stay in a motel.

As usually we were silent, like our conversation in the store didn’t happen, and it didn’t feel uncomfortable. But when I thought about it, it hadn’t been uncomfortable since I met Mickey. Not really.

We drove about fifty kilometers until he stopped the car aside from the road and got out. The sky was dark and the air freezing cold but I got outside anyway, cause I was hungry as fuck and all the food was in the trunk.

 

I grabbed an apple and  a can of orange juice. I was about to close the hatch when my eyes landed on the bottle Mickey had bought for me earlier. Its content would probably help to keep warm so I took it as well and spotted a couple of cups in one of the boxes in the trunk which I grabbed before I got back into the car.

Hitting my teeth into the sweet and fresh apple, after nothing but junk food during the last three days, felt good and I closed my eyes as I chewed.

When I was done I opened the orange juice can and poured some of the liquid into one of the cups. It was even more refreshing than the apple.

I filled both cups with more juice before I put it down next to my feet and grabbed my precious bottle that had cost me twenty five dollars. I added some of the brown liquid in it into the cups and put the bottle back, only to see Mickey entering the car as I looked up again.

 

“Thirsty?” I asked, holding up the cup I hadn’t drunk from.

Instead of answering me, he just took the cup and gave me a slight nod, which I took as his way of saying ‘thank you’.

“It’s orange juice with Jack Daniel’s” I said as he took a zip.

He put the cup onto the dashboard so fast like he had just burned himself on it.

The look on his face made my guts twist inside me. Whatever the mix of OJ and JD meant to him, it wasn’t good. Mickey turned around and grabbed a Gatorade from behind and started basically washing out his mouth with it.

“Don’t think it is that bad” I said lamely, in a terrible attempt to lighten the mood. As I expected I didn’t get an answer. I watched him emptying the bottle, neither of us saying a word and my mind was rushing of thoughts, mainly about the fact that I had probably fucked up for good now. The idea of learning more about Mickey could be crossed off my mental bucket list.

 

And then, five minutes or so later, he caught me completely off guard as he said, “Just a stupid memory.”

“Yeah, no shit” I responded because I had already figured out that much, but still cursed mentally. Smooth, Lilly. Smooth.

 

“I’m assuming it’s worse than the memory of waking up with a hell of a headache because of too much of this” I said after a while, pointing at the cup still sitting on the dashboard. Mickey chuckled as he heard that but it was heavy and bitter.

He looked down at his hands in his lap, seeming to think about his next words. The atmosphere was full of tension and Mickey kept staring at the tattoos on his fingers while I hoped he would tell me more about him than his name this time.

But he decided not to do so but instead leave the car and smoke another cigarette. Probably the thirtieth today.

 

I lasted about ten minutes, during which Mickey lightened a new smoke and I was fighting a battle in my mind about whether I should just suck it up and leave Mickey in peace or keep digging.

If I was honest with myself it wasn’t a surprise at all that I decided to do the latter.

Unable to resist the curiosity and the wish to help, although I was aware of the fact that this was Mickey’s business, and I should stay out of it just as he wanted me to.

 

I could barely see as I got out of the car, closed the door and the lights inside shut off, only the burning tip of Mickey’s cigarette was visible, glowing in the dark. It was slightly windy and I crossed my arms in order to keep as warm as possible. Then I took a few steps towards Mickey, still only seeing the burning end of his smoke, moving every couple seconds. I was standing next to him now, feeling the presence of another person beside me.

 

“Sorry about that drink shit. Didn’t mean to-“

“I fucking know that, alright!” he interrupted me roughly. I couldn’t see his face but I could hear sadness and frustration underneath his harsh tone, “Fucking Christ, just mind your own goddamn business and stop trying to be all talkative and shit!”

“Okay, irgendwie hast du Recht, aber-“ I immediately answered, voice rising because once again my mouth was faster than my brain.

I had finished the first half of my sentence until I realized that I had switched languages, as the slightly pissed off - because of his stubbornness - part of me took over the control of my lips for a second.

“I mean, you’re kinda right but I just really want to know what the fuck’s going on with you because it’s scary as hell since you got completely wasted yesterday and you smoke like a chimney” I started again, in English this time.

 

“The fuck was that language?” Mickey asked, ignoring what I had just said.

“Uhm, German” I mumbled.

“You’re from Germany?”

I nodded and then remembered that he couldn’t see me so I answered, “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else and I tried to think of something to keep this poor attempt of a conversation going.

Maybe if I told him something about me, he would open up a little bit. It wasn’t like he seemed interested in getting to know me at all, but I was running out of options and in the end Mickey might listen.

 

“Left about two years ago, wanted to travel. I’m kinda just going wherever it takes me. First I hitchhiked through Europe before I came to New York. Visited different cities all over America but since it’s getting cold I decided to go south.”

 

My words hang in the air, too loud for the heavy silence around us, except for the quiet noise of the cold breeze blowing around us.

I didn’t know if I should continue, I was probably embarrassing myself by telling Mickey things he clearly didn’t want to hear but suddenly he asked, “Where from Germany?”

I tried to cover up my surprise about his question by responding, “Are you saying you know any areas in Germany?”

Most Americans I had met either knew nothing about my home country or thought all Germans were Nazis.

“Fuck off” was Mickey’s charming answer to my question and the teasing tone I had accidentally added to my voice, but I could tell it was more bark than bite and he actually continued talking,

“I know the capitol’s Berlin and allegedly you drink beer all day and eat nothing but fucking pretzels.”

I tried not to smile but failed and said, “Well, you’re right about Berlin but your knowledge about the Germans is all the Bavarian stereotype.”

“They got that stupid beer fest there, right?”

“If I was from Bavaria I would be deeply offended right now” I said, faking a serious tone, “But luckily for you I’m not.”

 

Mickey snorted and I knew it was because he didn’t give a fuck if he offended me but he asked anyway.

“So were exactly do you come from?”

I could be wrong but it felt like he was actually kind of interested in getting an answer. It felt like he was glad to be able to think about something else than whatever had constantly been on his mind. Like me rambling about my past was a welcomed distraction and I that was more than I had hoped for just a couple minutes ago.

 

“Hamburg”, I started, waiting for the inventible ‘Is that where hamburgers were invented?’ question but Mickey had already proven that he wasn’t like the other Americans I knew and remained silent.  So I went on, “It’s in the north. Second biggest city after Berlin, known for the big port.”

I turned my head to the right were he was standing but the glow of the cigarette was gone and I couldn’t see him.

“Let’s go back into the car, I’m fucking freezing” I said and opened the door to the passenger’s seat. The lamps inside the vehicle lit up and I squeezed my eyes shut at the sudden brightness.

 

When we were both sitting in our seats again, Mickey turned off all the lights except for one so it was dark but kept out the black of the night and we could still see something.

I didn’t really know what to do now. Tell him more about Hamburg or my life?

 

Fortunately Mickey kept me from having to decide as he said, “How come your English is so good?”

“Did you just make me a compliment?” I could clearly hear the smile in my voice.

“You wish.” I had to keep myself from chuckling now. Instead of cracking up I said, “I paid attention in English class in school back in Germany and since I left it’s the language I use most because a lot of people at least speak a little. But I mean it’s not that good.”

“Better than my Spanish” he replied.

“No soy bien a hablar español tampoco” I pulled out my poor Spanish skills.

“God, how many fucking languages do you speak?”

“Aussi un petit peu du français. That means ‘also a little French’.“

 

We were silent for a few seconds and I wondered if I should try to get something out of him.

“So where exactly are _you_ from?”

I waited. Mickey didn’t answer right away but then he mumbled, “Chicago.”

The way he said this name told me it was a place he both hated and loved.

 

“South Side, right?”

He looked at me.

“So obvious that I come from this shithole?”

“Well, you definitely don’t look like a North Side prick.”

This answer got me a tiny smirk.

“I mean I was in Chicago only for a week”, I went on, “but I like the south much better than the north. Reminds me of the neighborhood I grew up in.”

He turned his gaze back to my mix of juice and booze and we fell  into silence again until I nearly got a heart attack and jumped in my seat at the sudden ringing of Mickey’s phone.

 

The cell he pulled out of his pocket looked like the ones my parents used to have about five years ago, before they had started stealing smartphones for themselves and later us. It was black and you had to unfold it to use it.

Whoever was calling Mickey got disappointed as he checked it, muted it and then put it on the dashboard, not even bothering to end the call.

“I’m gonna sleep now” he said and got in the backseat.

 

The shitload of unanswered questions in my head didn’t allow me to fall asleep until three hours later.

Why was Mickey here in Mexico? Who had called him? Why didn’t he answer that call?

But most importantly: What made him so fucking sad?

 

We spent the next day like the previous one, the only difference was that Mickey booked a room in a motel that rented by the hour and we both took a badly needed shower before we continued our silent journey through the dusty landscape while exchanging nothing but words that were absolutely necessary like ‘You want a tomato?’ and ‘yeah’ or ‘no’.

Well there was another difference. The calls. And those were the reason why I didn’t ask more questions that day. Because I saw how Mickey’s face frowned more with every time his phone started buzzing.

 

Mickey’s phone went off fourteen times as someone called and countless more as he got text messages but he never answered it. After the third call he didn’t even look who it was anymore.

 

So by the time night was coming and Mickey parked the car aside the road, my jaw was quasi aching from trying to keep my mouth shut so it wouldn’t let out the question that had been running through my mind since the first ring of the phone this morning.

The black trouble maker was still sitting on the dashboard where Mickey had put it yesterday and I could almost hear it screaming at me to pick it up and check it.

 

“Don’t eat all the chips” Mickey muttered before he hopped off the car to light one of his beloved cigarettes.

I saw him taking a long drag of the smoking paper roll. The first one was always the deepest, as he finally got the relief of the nicotine his addicted body was itching for.

While Mickey was enjoying his smoke I looked around for the chips we had stashed in the back seat and ripped it open when I found it. The snack was salty and greasy but it was food and that was enough. We both barely ate since Mickey seemed like he wanted to save the money he got and I wanted to be the smallest kind of burden I could be.

 

And then the phone started buzzing again, slightly moving because of the vibration. I looked at the thing, then at Mickey who was inhaling his second smoke by now, and back at the phone.

_I’m just gonna check who it is_ I told myself and reached for the phone.

 

Fifteen missed calls, twenty one texts, all from the same person who was also calling again right now. The caller ID said ‘Mandy’. Before my mind could stop it my thumb pressed the green button to answer it.

 

Fucking curiosity.


	2. A call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dialing tone stopped. It fucking stopped and this time it wasn’t because it went to voice mail but her call was being answered.
> 
> “Mickey?” she asked and noticed how choked and nervous her voice sounded. They hadn’t spoken in over a year.

The dialing tone stopped. It fucking stopped and this time it wasn’t because it went to voice mail but her call was being answered.

 

“Mickey?” she asked and noticed how choked and nervous her voice sounded. They hadn’t spoken in over a year.

 

“Uhm, hello…” a voice that clearly wasn’t Mickey’s answered.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Mandy snarled and felt her fingers clenching around the phone she was pressing against her ear.

Why wasn’t Mickey speaking to her? Was that the wrong number?

No, she was sure it was the right one since she got it, along with a text that said, ‘I’m outta the joint bitch’, a few days ago. It had taken her some time to find the courage to call him.

She was afraid of what she would hear.

 

“Uh, I’m Lilly. I’m travelling with Mickey. He’s outside smoking. As you may have noticed he didn’t answer your calls and I know I shouldn’t have done it but since you didn’t stop it seems kinda urgent and I just… went for it” the voice hurriedly explained. Mandy could tell it was a female voice, probably a teenage girl.

 

“Well, just get him on the fucking phone I need to talk to him!” God, of course Mickey was too stubborn to answer her, she should have known after he had ignored her for so long but it wasn’t like she was gonna give up. At least she had gotten _someone_ to answer the phone.

 

“I’m not sure if he wants to-“

“I don’t give a fuck what he wants, give him the damn phone!” she interrupted the girl with growing impatience.

 _He_ was the one who had given her the number and therefore she knew Mickey couldn’t be totally against the idea of talking to her.

But something had happened so that he had changed his mind, at least temporarily.

 

“Uhm, okay.” Now it was the girl’s voice that was insecure but she could hear her moving and the noise of an opening door and steps on gritty ground.

“Here”, the voice said, quietly now as she was obviously talking to Mickey, “You didn’t wanna answer it, so I did. She said she really needs to speak with you.”

 

She waited. First there was silence but then she heard muffled sounds as the phone was handed to another person.

 

“The fuck do you want?” He greeted her, charming as per usual.

But slightly more weary.

She released a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding in.

 

“Mickey!”, she gasped, unable to hide the relief in her voice, “Fuck you for not answering! Where are you? How the hell did you get out?!”

“Mexico” he answered quietly, “And that’s a long story.”

 _Well, fucking tell me_ she thought since the news had barely given any details about Mickey’s escape, shit she had smiled so hard as she had been watching the news and suddenly heard that he had busted out of prison. But before she heard about that story there was something way more important she had to know.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Fuck, she sounded weak. She was so fucking scared of the answer.

 

He sighed as if he was trying to keep himself from beginning to cry.

 

“No”, he said, his voice barely audible and choked, “No, I’m not okay.”

 

*

 

I thought it was more than likely that Mickey would shove the phone into my face and break my nose instead of answering it but surprisingly he didn’t. He just wordlessly took it when I insisted that he should do it and it almost seemed like he actually wanted to talk to the person at the other end of the line. I stepped back a little bit but couldn’t tear my eyes off of him.

I wanted to see his reaction to that woman on the phone. Was she the thing he was so upset about?

 

“The fuck do you want?” he asked in a harsh voice but his eyes wandered around in a pace that showed how nervous he was.

 _You really should not overhear_ the sensible part of my brain commented and I turned around to get back into the car but couldn’t resist the urge to take my time, to listen to as much of the conversation as possible.

 

“Mexico”, I heard Mickey saying from behind, “And that’s a long story.”

 

And then he said -or more like whispered, “No. No, I’m not okay.”

And what he was about to say next was not meant to be for my ears. He barely opened up to me. Whoever Mandy was, she was someone important. And what he was going to tell her wasn’t for me but for her. I closed the door, shutting out any sound from outside, because for once my rationality won.

 

*

 

“What happened?” she asked, desperate to know what had caused him to give her an answer that would, in his opinion, show such weakness.

It couldn’t be Terry. Iggy would have told her if he was out, they kept in touch, texted every once in a while, since she got a job in New York. Plus, Terry wouldn’t make him sound that way, no matter how hard he beat Mickey, no matter how many bruises and cuts and emotional damage he had given to his youngest son.

There was only one person in the world that would put Mickey in the condition he was obviously in.

She could hear a choked sob on the other end of the line.

The person who had left him in this state way too many fucking times. Her best friend.

Oh Mickey.

 

“Got dumped at the border” he said in a muffled voice and she knew how much strength it cost her brother to tell her that. To admit that he got ditched and was sad about it, again. The Mickey from a couple years ago would have never said anything like that, even though he had been almost as broken as he seemed now. He would have drowned it in alcohol, well he probably still did, but this was new. Opening up to her was new.

 

They had always been the closest among their shitload of siblings, Iggy followed closely for both of them, Mandy didn’t really give a fuck about her other brothers and neither did Mickey, but still they had never actually talked. Not much. But he had always had her back and she had always kicked his ass when he needed it.

Now she had to listen. Give comfort. Encourage.

God, this was going to be so much harder than telling him to get his shit together.

 

“You met after you got out?” she asked in a voice that sounded way more casual than she felt.

Okay, honestly that wasn’t much of a surprise. If Mickey got unfinished business he took care of it. They had barely talked since she had left the South Side and it had become even less when he got arrested. Still, he had written her a letter in which he told her about the events that had taken place right before he had gone to pre-trial custody.

 

It was a plain letter, more like a police report, no emotions in the words as he described what had happened.

She had cried anyway as she had read it.

It was stashed in a box now, that was hidden under her bed, along with the few things she had taken with her when she had left her home, and that meant a happy memory of said home. The letter wasn’t happy at all but it was all she got of her brother.

 

“Yeah. Agreed to come with me, stayed all the way down to the border, got all savings at the bank, I should have known by then. That in the end I would go alone…

I think I already sorta knew it when we left Chicago.”

She could feel her guts twisting as she listened to him.

 

“Said ‘I love you’ and then ‘this isn’t me anymore I’m sorry’ literally fifty fucking yards away from Mexico. Forced me to take the money though.”

His voice was so quiet by now, heavy with suppressed tears, that  she could barely understand him.

Shit shit shit. She felt her own tears burning in her eyes. Right now she wanted nothing more than to hug Mickey, hold him. Make it better.

But she only had words so she tried to help him with these. By just being bluntly and completely honest.

 

“You remember when we were little and I broke something? Like a glass or dad’s ashtray or some shit?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer because she knew he remembered and went on,

“You always took the beat down for it because you didn’t want him to hurt me.”

She left out the fact that he hadn’t succeeded. He didn’t know what Terry had done to her and she didn’t plan on ever telling him. This was her past and she had stashed it somewhere in the shallows of her brain and managed to forget it most of the time. Mickey had been in juvie whenever it had happened, it wasn’t like he could have done anything to protect her but she knew he would blame himself if he ever found out. Apart from that she was done with that shit.

 

She knew that Terry had done the same to Mickey, just in a different way. And not because he was drunk as hell and mistook him for their dead mum like he did with Mandy, but because of something Mickey couldn’t change. Because of who he loved.

And Mickey’s son would always be a reminder of what was forever burned into his memory as one of the most terrible days of his life.

 

It made her feel sick that rape was only one of her brother’s worst memories.

 

She cleared her voice before she continued, “You were the strongest person I knew, you still are.

Every time Terry knocked you down you sucked it up. God, you heaved _me_ up.

He broke all of us, including mum, and we all took it, you the most. And I kinda acted like a bitch by calling you a pussy because you didn’t step up to him. But neither did I or anyone else.”

She was crying by now.

 

“And then one day you did” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. She hadn’t been at the Alibi at Yev’s christening but she had heard about the way Mickey had turned against their father and he had done it in Milkovich style, with a bang.

Well, Terry’s reaction caused him to land his ass in prison four hours after his last release and he was still rotting in a cell. She had never been more proud of Mickey.

Just continued being proud because of what had happened afterwards. The way he looked out for the person he loved, started building a relationship with Yevgeny who he was slowly opening up to. They had been some weird kind of a little family along with Svetlana, back then.

The only problem was that life had decided to throw more shit at them.

Like the the stuff they had already been through wasn’t enough.

 

“You were the most badass husband, father and boyfriend I know. And even though it got all destroyed, somehow you made it. You got out of this shithole called Cook County Corrections and you made it to fucking Mexico, okay?

Because you always bounce back.

And so will you this time.” She had stopped crying and her voice was more steady because she knew she was right. Mickey was gonna survive this, damaged - probably more than anybody in their family, but he would get back on his feet. Even alone. Just like he had been most of his life.

 

“Fuck the Gallaghers!” she said.

A wave of relief rolled over her as she heard him chuckle slightly.

“Yeah”, he mumbled, “fuck the Gallaghers.”

 

They each had had their fair share of two people of the Gallagher family and while she had found closure with her douchebag she knew it would take Mickey a long time until he would be done with his.

She hoped he would get there one day.

 

“Thanks, Mandy”, he said softly and in this moment she missed him more than ever, “My phone’s almost dead so-“

“Wait”, she interrupted him, “One more thing.” She nervously started tapping her fingers against the arm rest of her huge couch she was sitting on, not sure how Mickey would take the piece of information she was about to share.

“What?”

“I gave Svetlana your number. You know she won’t snitch and she said maybe she’ll come down with Yev some day.”

“Why the hell would she do that?!” His choice of words couldn’t feint her. There was a lot of hope in his voice.

 

“Well, as you know she lived with Kev and V and as you might not know they were something that they called a ‘thrupple’-“

“I do know, I got some gaps filled on the way to the border.”

“Okay, so then you also know that it didn’t work out and Svetlana sort of stole the Alibi from Kev and V. And then yesterday Iggy told me that they threatened her to report her to immigration office and since she was fake married to both you and V, she could get deported so she gave the bar back to them. She works as a bartender somewhere else now and occupies the Milkovich house of horrors, aka our home, but apparently she was pretty impressed by the way you got out of the joint and said that she would like to visit you with Yev. If you get a legal job for once and a decent home.”

“Was gonna do that anyway. Kinda sick of fucking prison, don’t wanna go back there.”

“Wow, is that my brother speaking?” she asked and smiled.

Mickey would always be South Side, smoke weed, get drunk, swear more than anyone else in entire Chicago but, as much as it may look from the outside, apparently he hadn’t turned into the Milkovich cliché Terry had wanted him to become.

 

“And Mickey?”

“Yeah?”

“Whoever that chick that’s with you is, if she’s cool and you feel shitty, maybe… talk to her. Friends help a lot. Found that out when I came to New York.”

 

“Alright, bitch. Talk soon.”

“See ya, shithead.”

And with that he was gone.

She didn’t know how much time would pass until they would speak again but she did know that there would be a next time and she hoped that her brother would make it. Build a new life in Mexico.

And the second she got enough money to take a flight down there she would visit him.

 

*

 

When Mickey came back I offered him the bag of chips.

“Didn’t eat all of them.”

“I was gone for fucking five minutes.” He was right, his conversation with Mandy hadn’t been long but Mickey seemed ten times less down than five minutes ago, so whoever this Mandy was, she had helped. She was definitely not the reason for his low, I knew that much now.

“Who was that?” I asked because I really couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer.

“Sister.”

 

“Sorry… about picking up the phone, I-“

“It’s fine”, he said before I could finish, “Thanks, actually. Should’ve talked to her sooner.”

“Well, you did now.”

 

I debated if I should push further, ask more about him. He seemed so much better right now, like a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders. Sure enough happiness looked differently but it was an improvement. _Just go for it._

 

“Where is she?”

“New York. Left Chicago about a year and a half ago.”

“Any other siblings?”

“Four brothers”, he snorted, “Don’t really know what the douchebags are up to these days. Probably the usual, drug runs and robberies and shit.” He paused a couple seconds before he asked, “What about you? Any annoying sisters that don’t stop calling?”

“I got an older brother and three little sisters. They’re a pain in the ass but I miss them anyway. Haven’t heard of them in a while though.”

“Parents?”

“Fucked off three years ago, we were dumped into foster care, separated since nobody wants five fucked up children from the worst neighborhood of Hamburg all at once.”

“And you ran away.”

“Yup.”

“Kinda impressive how far you’ve come.”

“That another compliment?” I grinned and he flipped me off.

 

“What about you?”, I asked, “What are you doing here? Doesn’t seem like you’re on vacation.”

I held my breath, waiting and hoping that I would get an answer.

“You watched the news recently?”

I shook my head, “No.”

“I figured, otherwise you wouldn’t ask” he said, “And you wouldn’t have gotten into the car with me.”

 

That sounded more than alarming and suddenly I could feel my heart beating so fast like I had just run a marathon. All my suspicions from the night we met came back.

I swallowed hard before I said, “Why?”

“You heard of the guy that broke out of prison?” Yeah, I had heard of that. Because of he lack of a home and therefore a TV, as well as always having internet, I didn’t know what exactly had happened but I had indeed overheard a conversation, between two older women in a café in Dallas, about a week ago. They had talked about a fugitive at large, armed and apparently dangerous.

 

“That’s you?!”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit!”

I knew the only reasonable reaction to this kind of information would be being scared shitless but honestly I was just really surprised. I mean I already knew that he stole a car so I was aware that he was a criminal.

But then I remembered that important question that should be asked whenever you find out someone had been in prison, especially when said someone was still supposed to be there.

 

“What did you do?”

“They convicted me of attempted murder.”

“Oh.”

Well, this was becoming pretty scary now.

 _Okay, Lilly don’t freak out. Wouldn’t help at all. Just stay calm_ I thought but that was easier said than done. I took a deep breath in order to stop me from losing my shit and think of a plan how I would get out of here as fast as possible, when a different thought crossed my mind.

 

“Did you do it?”

“What?”

“Try to kill someone?”

“Uhm-“

“You said you were sentenced for attempted murder. If you actually did it you probably would’ve just said ‘I shot my ex’ or something like that.”

 

He didn’t answer right away, staring out of the window into the darkness and I forced myself to sit still and be patient. He hadn’t done anything to hurt me since we met, hell he had been actually kind of nice. I knew I could be terribly wrong, since I knew almost nothing about him –except that he came from the South Side which didn’t really speak for him, but Mickey didn’t seem like a murderer to me.

 

“No”, he finally said and I knew there was a big chance that he was lying but for some weird reason I instantly believed him, “I mean I was anything but sad when I thought that cunty bitch was dead but I didn’t intend to kill her. We just wanted to take revenge and when she looked like she was dead we put her in her fucking moving crate that was on the street and got removed the next day. Unfortunately she came back, very alive, and tried to shoot me and that put both our asses behind bars.”

 

His tattooed fingers were fumbling in his lap and the same expression of pain appeared on his face, the one I had seen for the whole time since we met, even when he was sleeping, just until right after the conversation with his sister.

 

“Who’s we?”

I could practically feel how I lost the last bit of control over my mouth, too hooked on what he had just revealed about his past and eager to hear more. I couldn’t help it, interesting stories just got me and this sounded more than interesting.

 

But apparently I had gone too far or maybe Mickey had just remembered that he hadn’t wanted to take me with him in the first place, because he just said, “None of your goddamn business” and took his usual spot in the backseat.

 

I sighed. Whatever Mandy had done to cheer him up, I had obviously ruined it. He was back in shut-off mood and I felt guilty. And because I couldn’t keep shit to myself I spoke into the darkness, Mickey had switched off the light, “I know you can’t stand it that I’m always apologizing but I just- I just  wanna say that I’m sorry for being a curios little bitch. I get it if you don’t wanna tell me much about you, it’s not like you volunteered to pick me up and I really appreciate you letting me stay, so just so you know _if_ you wanna talk… I’d listen.”

 

He remained silent and I wrapped the blanket around me, trying to get comfortable in my seat.

The sky above us was black but full of countless stars, small white spots in the darkness.

Of course I had seen them before, it was the fourth night in a row that I spent in the middle of nowhere, but tonight was the first time I really looked at them.

Honestly, it was beautiful. They seemed so close and at the same time incredibly far away.

In that moment I realized how much I missed my family. Well, my siblings, mom was probably passed out in a crack house and dad somewhere in Spain or France or whatever, kinda hard to keep track if someone just disappears some day.

I wondered what my brother was doing right now and my sisters. They must be something like seven hours ahead of us in Germany, so they were probably getting  ready for school and work.

 

I couldn’t help but find myself thinking about Mickey’s family. I didn’t really know anything about his parents but I figured they were similar fuck-ups like my own and then there were his brothers who earned their money with crimes. His sister was doing god knows what in New York but the way Mickey had talked about her moving away, indicated that she had wanted to do something meaningful with her life and maybe she had succeeded.

And then there was Mickey, sleeping behind me in the back seat and still I wanted nothing more than to learn more about him and maybe even become his friend.


	3. New home

I did become Mickey’s friend.

 

The day after Mandy had called we reached the coast and stayed in a small town right beside the sea.

Mickey had never seen the sea before, never been on a beach before. I could see it in his face as we made our way down to the water, bare feet walking over warm sand and then in cold water spilling around our ankles. The hot sun burning our skins because we didn’t have any sun blocker, not that we cared though. Not in that moment. Right then I felt free, more than I had wandering through the desert all alone.

Unlike Mickey I had seen the sea before. The North Sea, Baltic Sea, Mediterranean Sea, hell even the Atlantic Ocean but every time I caught sight of this endless blue, I felt lighter. Like a feather dancing in the wind.

 

It reminded me of the few happy days we had spent at the North Sea, mom, my siblings and me.

I had been around five maybe and dad had left town for some business that I still didn’t want to know about and mom had recognized this little precious time we got as an opportunity to get away from the shit home we were living in. She had hitchhiked all the way up to the north of Germany, which was nothing compared to the distance I would make later by spending countless hours in cars of strangers. We had stayed at a small camping ground right beside the beach. The happiest time of my life.

 

I watched Mickey as he let his eyes wander over the white sand and the blue water in front of us. He seemed way less amazed about it than I was but I could still see something shift in his eyes.

 

We had stayed several hours at the beach before we returned to the car and I prepared myself for the goodbye that was about to come and which I wasn’t ready for.

I liked hanging out with Mickey, talking or not. I had met nice people during my journey but always needed enough time alone. Suddenly it felt good to be around someone else and I couldn’t really explain why but I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to stay with Mickey.

 

I had grabbed my backpack and been wondering if I should say ‘bye’ and maybe add a ‘thanks’ when he had asked, “You know where you’re sleepin’ tonight?”

“I’m gonna try to find a job as a waitress or some shit and get a room in a motel.”

“You got enough money?”

I had hesitated because, no, I didn’t and he had just said, “I don’t wanna waste the money I got so I’m just gonna rent one room. But it could be one with two beds.”

 

We spent a week in a room with two small beds. I got a job in one of the diners, stuffed with tourists, by the beach and Mickey started working as a bartender also close to the water.

After that first week he rented a small two bedroom apartment right in the center of the town with light walls and an open kitchen.

 

At some point it had just got clear that we would stick together. During our time in the desert I had gone from being an annoying weight for him to someone he could tolerate and maybe even want to spend time with.

We each payed half the rent and for other stuff like water, gas and groceries and slowly but steady our new place began to look like a home.

It became our home.

 

Mickey managed to find an old table, a few chairs, a small blue couch and hell even a shabby dishwasher at a market which he added to the few pieces of furniture that had already been in the apartment while I bought some carpets in different colors, a couple lamps that spread cozy and warm light and a bunch of other decorations. The few complains I got about stuffing the apartment with shit didn’t stop me from making our small place more comfortable and homely. Mickey would never admit it out loud but I knew he didn’t really mind, maybe even liked it.

 

When we weren’t working we learned Spanish together or watched movies. I found out that Mickey had the same obsession with Tarantino movies as I did, however, sometimes when I got home from work and Mickey had a day off I saw him watching some old action film I had barely heard of. Every time that would happen he shut the TV off immediately and I knew better than to ask questions.

 

But unlike before we actually talked.

 

The more time passed the better I got to know Mickey and he got to know me.

I told him about my life in Hamburg and all the crazy shit that had happened to me since I took off and he told me about the shit in his life. About his abusive asshole of a father, fucking high school that he never finished, juvie, and its differences and similarities to prison.

 

My wish to be Mickey’s friend became true, my wish to find out what caused him so much pain did not.

Listening to the stuff he had been through would be enough to break someone for life. I had thought my life was crappy but compared to his it had been cake. But I learned soon that Mickey was tough and badass as fuck and knew how to fight. I knew the things he told me about weren’t the reason why he was so upset, that shit had just made him stronger, at least on the outside.

There was something he didn’t tell me about, the thing that had made him drink so much during that night in the desert and was the reason for two packs of cigarettes a day at that time.

 

It got better though. Some nights he got really drunk and he still smoked a lot but it became less with every month that passed until he was down to two drunk nights a week average.

I knew he would probably never tell me and that was okay. Because I had got something way more important than the complete satisfaction of my curiosity.

I had made a friend.

 

A month after we had moved into our apartment I started dating a guy named Carlos. He was eighteen and the biggest gentleman on earth until one day I found him in the bathroom of the diner I worked at, giving it to a bleach blonde bitch in one of the filthy stalls. Mickey broke his nose for me.

 

After that incident I was done with guys, at least for now and Mickey didn’t date anyone either so we went back to spending our nights together on the couch, listening to fucking great music and talking about movies unless it was one of those nights Mickey went out.

 

He never said where he was going but came back late and I knew he hooked up with someone. Since he never brought anybody home with him or hung out with someone else than me or the few friends we had made at work, I was pretty sure he banged different chicks each time. No strings, no getting attached, just random hook ups. I knew the drill and I had had my fair share of it so I was aware of the advantages this policy came along with but I had quit it a while ago.

Whenever I had fucked random dudes in an alleyway or a rest room of a club, my life had been pretty fucked up. Right now I was kinda happy with it. No need to seek a poor alternative to happiness  in banging strangers. Apparently for Mickey it was different.

 

It was one of those nights during which the bar was basically bursting with people. I had just finished my afternoon shift at the diner and was supposed to meet up with Mickey, Juana and Antonio.

We often hung out together because Juana, who worked at the bar with Mickey, and her boyfriend, where two of the few people Mickey could tolerate for more than five minutes. Tonight we wanted to go to the beach during the night and get drunk, maybe swim a little bit.

 

“Nadar durante la noche es tan chida!“ Antonio had said and both our friends had insisted to go, especially since Mickey barely went to the beach during the day, after the first time we had been there and he had looked like a fucking lobster. His pale skin had become tanner by now but it was still pretty light and apparently Mickey was anything but eager to repeat an event like that so he ended up passing most of the times Juana, Antonio and I went because he was too lazy to put on sunscreen. Although, according to Mickey, it was only about saving money, which was bullshit thinking of our jobs that actually paid quite well.

 

I tried to elbow my way up to the bar where I assumed Mickey and Juana must be serving their last drinks of the day before we could head off to the beach but I couldn’t see them because of the million American tourists, mainly college students, enjoying spring break, meaning getting drunk as fuck and blocking every way to the bar. Well I shouldn’t complain, this part of the town was usually calm but during Christmas it had been way busier because of the the many Americans who wanted to escape the winter in their home country, and of course, during spring break even more people came. With Mickey being a fugitive it was kinda risky but the crowds of people who were drunk off their asses or high as fuck, mostly both, also meant pretty good tips.

Didn’t change the fact that I didn’t really like being stuck between sweating guys in Aloha shirts who were acting like they owned the whole fucking universe because they had passed some stupid exam.

 

After I spent way too much time pushing myself through the loud and hell too fucking affectionate mess of bodies I finally reached the counter behind which Mickey was pouring Tequila into a bunch of shot glasses, a small group of obviously intoxicated girls, giggling and impatiently waiting for their drinks, in front of him. They clearly were in flirt mode and kept glancing at Mickey in a way that was meant to be seductive but was just fucking embarrassing actually. Well, not that he seemed interested anyway, more like he was one inch away from kicking them out.

 

“Hey!” I greeted as he pushed the shots over the counter top to the girls. He turned around which earned me five death glares from the bitches that wanted to get into Mickey’s pants.

“Hey, Lilly” he said and smiled his little smile. It was rare and every time I saw it it felt like a small victory because it was hard to make Mickey smile. I had only heard him once actually laughing.

We had been super high and watching some stupid comedy movie and while I had been constantly cracking up Mickey had started laughing his ass of as I had tried to get up from the couch to get another beer but had stumbled over the coffee table and landed in the chips and the bowl of salsa.

Sometimes he would chuckle slightly, as Antonio would tell one of his really bad jokes or I showed once again why I earned the labeling clumsy, but that was it.

 

“You want a shot?” he asked as he put down the bottle of Tequila and grabbed the one with Jack off the shelf. He knew me too well.

“Fuck yeah” I said, ignoring the angry looks I got because apparently I was cock blocking and he grinned, taking another shot glass and filling it with my favorite booze before serving himself a drink as well.

“Cheers” I mumbled and we both downed our shots when Juana appeared next to Mickey.

“The hell are you getting drunk without me” she exclaimed with feigned anger, “Besides this is my bar and you should pay for the shit you drink!”

“We never pay, we’re your friends” I answered, smiling at her because she always complained about us and Antonio stealing her booze although she didn’t mind at all. Hell, she had even yelled at Mickey as he was about to pay for the drinks he and I had ordered when he had started working here. “You’re my co-worker and she’s your friend so don’t you dare put your money on this counter” she had said to Mickey. We had ended up drinking what felt like half of her alcohol stash and had met her boyfriend Antonio when he came into the bar all worried because it was 4am and we had been laying on the counter, smoking weed and singing (Juana and me, Mickey doesn’t sing). He had joined us and the next morning we had confirmed our friendship to each other as each one of us was puking into the toilets in the bathroom of the bar.

 

“¡Hola mis amigos!”, I heard Antonio’s loud voice as he came from behind, “Hola mi corazón.”

I rolled my eyes as he planted Juana’s face with kisses. They were cute together but couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“Jesus, get a room!”

My complain was completely ignored but fortunately Mickey smacked Antonio’s head and pointed towards the door. “Maria and Ramirez are here to take over so we can fuckin’ go now.”

“Vale, gringo de mal humor” Antonio said but he was grinning. We were all used to Mickey’s mostly bad mood and we could handle it.

Although I was pretty sure neither Juana nor Antonio saw behind that. Behind the barrier Mickey had built around himself and which should hide the sadness and resignation in his eyes. Maybe it was because I had seen him in the state he had been in when we met, because whenever I looked at him I could see these emotions underneath that look of anger.

 

We fought our way back through the stuffed room that had turned into a dancefloor full of crazy morons and I eagerly inhaled the air of the night when we got outside. Although it wasn’t really better than in the bar. Winter was gone and every day it got hotter and more humid. Even now at 11pm the air was thick with the heat of the day.

 

It was only about a hundred meters down to the beach but since it was pretty busy we followed Antonio who lead us along the water until we reached a hidden place surrounded by big rocks, their hard edges looking sharp in the darkness.

Antonio dumped the bag full of beer and other shit into the sand and immediately stripped down to his bathing trunks he was wearing underneath his Bahama shorts.

 

“Come on, it’s fun” Juana said as she noticed Mickey’s doubting look.

“No sun to burn your white ass” Antonio added.

 

Mickey flipped him off but he just laughed and grabbed Juana’s hand before they ran into the breaking waves.

I pulled my green shirt over my head and got rid of the short jeans which left me with the blue bikini I had bought when I had gone shopping with Juana. The sand felt much colder than during the day as my feet sank into it. Other than the air which even the blowing wind couldn’t cool down.

 

Juana and Antonio were already play fighting in the waves, splashing water at each other and shouting at us that we should join them.

“You ready?” I asked and turned around to Mickey who was just staring at the black water.

“Jesus Mickey, don’t be such a party pooper.” I rolled my eyes because sometimes I lost my patience with this guy and his never ending grumpy mood.

“If you wanna go in the water so fucking badly just go. Don’t need me to join you!” he snapped and sat down. I groaned.

“I won’t be the third wheel with those idiots there” I said and pointed towards our friends who were in the middle of a passionate make out session out in the water.

“Please, just try to have some fun.”

I added a light punch to his arm to my words but he just kept his gaze on the light waves right in front of our feet.

He mumbled something, so quietly that I almost didn’t understand it. “I can’t swim.”

 

Oh.

 

Okay, thinking about it this shouldn’t really be a surprise. From what I heard from him, Mickey’s dad didn’t seem like the kind of father who would teach his children how to keep afloat. I could feel how uncomfortable Mickey was so I quickly said, “Well, then we gotta get drunk before the two lovebirds come back and we have to share with them.”

The glass of the beer bottle was still cold, since we didn’t wait long enough for them to get warm. I grabbed two of them and handed one to Mickey who unscrewed the cap in one smooth movement of his hand.

 

“This is so much easier with American beer” I said and opened my own bottle.

“Huh?”

“Opening a beer.”

Mickey shot me a look that said ‘What the fuck are you talking about’, his eyebrows so high they almost reached his hairline.

“In Germany we still only have crown corks. Nothing worse than having a beer in your hand but no opener. There’s other ways to get it open but it was pretty annoying.”

He was still looking at me like he was trying to figure out why the hell I was talking about beer caps.

“Sorry, I’m rambling”, I quickly added and decided to shut myself up by taking a sip of the beer.

“Yeah, no shit” he said but he was grinning. This happened quite often. I would lose control over my tongue and not be able to stop talking no matter what boring shit was coming out of my mouth. It was mostly embarrassing as fuck but I took it since it seemed to amuse Mickey every once in a while.

 

“Good thing Juana buys the American beer then” he said and stared at the label of his bottle. Juana offered a bunch of different beer brands but considering the shitload of American tourists coming to her bar she actually made the effort to get some booze from Mexico’s big neighbor because while her customers were looking to leave their boring lives behind for a while they didn’t want to abstain from their beloved native alcohol.

 

We drank our beers and discussed which beer brand was the best, because unlike in terms of hard stuff, where we agreed on Jack Daniel’s, our tastes in beer where slightly different so we argued for a while which turned into a big discussion and in the end neither of us could convince the other.

“But you gotta admit that Marlboro’s are the best” Mickey changed the topic to cigarettes. I nodded.

“True.”

“Speaking of smokes-“ he said and took a pack of our favorite cigarette brand out of his pocket, “You want one?”

“Sure” I answered and he handed me one before he took one as well and put it between his lips. The flame of the lighter was dancing in the mild wind as he held it to the tip of the cigarette in my mouth before lighting his own too.

We were silent now, just sitting there, enjoying the toxins entering our lungs. The smoke of our cigarettes turned blue in the wan light of the full moon above us.

 

I looked at Mickey, watched him while he was staring at the sea in front of us. He was zoned out right now, clearly not paying attention to Juana and Antonio who were still in the water. I could hear their laughs and splashing but I barely noticed them because I was looking at Mickey. His eyes seemed black in the dark but I knew they were light blue in fact. And they still held the proof that there was something that bothered Mickey. Once again I was looking at him and wondering what it was. I didn’t ask him anymore because I knew he wouldn’t tell me and I was more than happy to have him as my friend but this didn’t mean that I could ignore the wish of Mickey telling me. Because even though I didn’t know _what_ it was, I did know that it was something really fucking important.

 

“The hell are you getting drunk without us!” Antonio interrupted my thoughts, faking a sour face as he slumped down next to me and grabbed two of the four remaining beers in the sand.

“The fuck are you on about, hard to get wasted with only one fucking six pack” Mickey replied as he finished his cigarette and took another beer.

“Fortunately I can help with that” Juana laughed and got a bag of weed out of her purse and a good old bottle of her favorite Tequila.

 

All four of us were laying in the sand, beers in our hands and passing a joint between us, while listening to Antonio’s rambling about the stupid students he had to put up with. According to him being a teacher at the local high school meant getting pranked at least once a week. Juana only laughed at him and said that if he was telling the truth he was a “chocha”, a pussy.

“Es nada comparado con los idiotas al bar, correcto Mickey?”

“Last week I got fuckin’ beer all over my pants because some stupid asshole was too dumb to keep his glass on the fucking table.”

 

“What about you Lilly?” Antonio slurred, the alcohol and weed were definitely showing their effects,

“Any annoying pricks at the diner?”

I shrugged. “Just the usual douchebags that can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

Juana hummed in agreement. Her long black hair and slim body drew a lot of male attention to her so she knew what I was talking about.

“If some puto touches you I will kill him” Antonio growled into Juana’s hair and she giggled because pot always made her giddy.

“Same goes for you” he said, gaze turned to Mickey now, who didn’t respond.

 

I tilted my head to see him laying there, eyes closed, smoke coming out of his nostrils as he exhaled the drag from the joint between his fingers before passing it back to Juana.

He looked almost… peaceful. Something I had never seen before.

Mickey was always on edge, nervous, angry, fierce and only sometimes sarcastic or something like okay. Never relaxed, let alone happy.

But right now, in this very moment, he seemed to be in a different world. Maybe it was the blunt we were sharing, or some revery, or maybe both.

 

“Hey, Mickey you heard me?” Antonio said, more loudly now, ripping Mickey out of his thoughts, he opened his eyes, his usual frown replacing the look of peace on his face. “Yeah, I fucking heard you.”

 

While Juana was silly as fuck when she smoked pot Antonio got jealous and possessive and he always made sure that Mickey knew what would happen to him if he ever laid eyes on his beloved girlfriend although Mickey had never looked at Juana in a way that could be even slightly considered interested in a particular way, at least not in my presence. Plus, Juana didn’t have eyes for anyone else than Antonio.

Apart from the need to make sure Juana was his when he was high and their annoyingly huge amount of PDA they were both pretty great.

 

Juana had hired Mickey without asking questions and Antonio and her had both welcomed us in their apartment the minute we had become friends. What I appreciated most was their patience.

They didn’t ask the usual questions, like where we came from and what we were doing in Mexico or shit like that, no they waited. And over time we told as much as we wanted to.

 

They didn’t know nearly as much about me as Mickey did or I did about him but they knew the basic parts and accepted them.

Juana didn’t care but had actually seemed pretty impressed when she heard that this guy from Chicago who busted out of prison by making one of the female security guards there fall for him, was her new bartender.

Antonio had only raised an eyebrow as I told them that I was a German high school drop out.

On my eighteenth birthday they had invited Mickey and me to their apartment and surprised us with a shitload of cake and snacks and booze. I hadn’t even told them it was my birthday, Juana had seen it on the passport I had left in our living room as they had visited us.

 

Though right now I wanted to toss Antonio’s big old flip flop at him because once again he was laying on top of Juana with his tongue down her throat.

Seriously it was fucking weird to listen and watch two people making out with your best friend right next to you. Apparently Mickey was thinking exactly the same because he got up and threw his shirt back on. “Let’s leave these fucking lovebirds over there alone and go home.”

“Yeah” I agreed and got up as well.

“Bye bitches” Mickey said as he started walking.

“Bye, see ya tomorrow” Juana answered quickly before Antonio shut her off by covering her mouth with his own.

I rolled my eyes, something I did way too often around these two, and followed Mickey.

 

“We should do this more often” I said as we were walking, the crushing waves rolling over our feet.

“Getting wasted at the beach”, he responded and kicked a small stone away, “Yeah, more fun than doing that shit in a bar full of way too cheery college bitches from New York.” I was pretty sure he was referring to the chicks that had been drooling all over him earlier that night.

 

Darkness and me being drunk and high had never been a good combination in terms of being sensitive so I blame the beer and weed for what I said next.

“You don’t have fun very often.”

 

God, I knew this kinda stuff was forbidden territory. Why couldn’t I just leave it? Whenever I slipped and couldn’t resist saying shit like that it ended up in silence from Mickey for a couple hours.

As I expected he didn’t say anything, just continued walking and stared at the black water next to us.  Most people had left the beach by now so it was just us, the crunching of the sand under our feet and the sound of the breaking waves.

 

Mickey’s voice was quiet as he asked, “You ever plan on going back?”

I looked at him, surprised. We were supposed to go home in silence, Mickey being preoccupied with thoughts I would probably never hear about and me cursing internally because of my big mouth, but apparently tonight it was different.

The weird thing was, as much as I normally couldn’t stop talking and had an opinion about everything with the annoying need to let the people around me know about it, I didn’t have an answer to this particular question. Of course it had come up in my mind before but I had always pushed it away because I didn’t know. Did I want to go back? Back home? Needless to say that I wanted to see my siblings again but my parents? Going back to Germany and seeing my brothers and sisters would mean reentering my old life. The life I had fled from and never wanted to live again.

 

So after a while I said, “Maybe… What- what about you?”

 

*

 

Mickey didn’t really know why he had asked. Of course she would ask back, Lilly was a curios little bitch just like she always said she was and he had asked anyway.

A part of him actually was just interested if she would go home one day, try to get her old life on track or if she would rather stay here. He would never admit it but if she left he would miss her.

But he couldn’t feint himself, the real reason why he had asked was because he had hoped for a clear answer, yes or no. Because maybe it would help himself to answer this question.

 

Mexico was okay. Sunny and hot and dusty, so different from Chicago where you froze your ass off in the winter. He had a job that made fucking legal money, lived in a nice apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood with a girl from Hamburg as his roommate and friend, plus he had made other friends. He had stability. A rare condition in his past.

 

South Side was grey and cold and full of unpleasant memories.

 

Fuck, he missed it.

 

But he couldn’t go back because he was a fucking fugitive and because of fucking Gallagher.

 

Mickey told the truth. “I don’t know.”

 

Their conversation was over and they made their way home in silence.

 

He was laying in his bed, trying to sleep but he couldn’t because his chest hurt right above his heart although it had already been two weeks since he had removed the tattoo. A big scar now, instead of the familiar name.

Still, the physical pain was a welcome distraction from the exertion of picking up the pieces of a shattered self.

 

‘Zeit heilt alle Wunden’ Lilly had said one day they had been laying on the couch, talking about their shitty childhoods. According to her it was a German proverb and similar to ‘time is a great healer’. He didn’t know her opinion on it but he thought the English and the German version were both complete bullshit.

Time isn’t a great healer. You only learn to live with the pain. Not because it gets easier but because you don’t have any other option.


	4. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘You’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, finally we hear something about Ian and what he's up to.
> 
> Comments and kudos would be much appreciated, feedback is always great!

‘You’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did.’

 

It was a quote. On a small piece of paper that hung on the wall of Debbie’s room.

Ian had seen it a thousand times since his little sister put it up there, during one of her creative phases as she called it, meaning she collected a bunch of pictures and wise quotes from famous people who pretended they knew everything about the world and life in general.

Well, if you asked him, they knew shit.

Debbie’s walls were full of this crap and Ian had actually taken the time to look at it every once in a while.

 

Her room was unoccupied since she had moved in with Neil, and Lip and Ian kinda shared Lip’s old room and Debbie’s. Liam had the old boys’ room all for himself except when Carl was home for the holidays and since Ian and Lip both wanted the big bed instead of Debbie’s small one they had agreed to split. Lip would sleep in their little sister’s bed for a week and then they would switch.

 

It was weird how empty the Gallagher house was. Carl was away in military school, Debbie and Frannie lived with Neil in his apartment. It was only Fiona, Lip, Liam and him plus Frank who slept on the couch because Fiona didn’t let him upstairs in Ian’s old bed.

 

Ian knew that wasn’t the reason why the house felt empty to him.

Someone else was missing. Not only missing in the house but missing in his life.

 

It was 12:04am, pitch dark outside but the small lamp on Debbie’s nightstand was on, filling the room with sallow light and Ian was laying in her bed and staring at the scrap of paper on the wall.

‘You’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did.’

 

It was bullshit. He didn’t regret _not_ going to Mexico, he knew it was the right decision because crossing that border would mean throwing away all the stability he had worked so hard for.

Not that he hadn’t wanted to, god he had wanted to so much but he couldn’t. Giving up his stable life was equal to letting his disease take over again. Bipolar was a fucking tricky bitch and running away to Mexico, leaving his job and health insurance behind, would destroy any kind of future he could have. Any kind of future with the person he loved.

 

His fucked up unmedicated brain had destroyed his relationship before and it would do it again.

So Ian had done it. For the third time.

Only it had been the first time that it was all himself, no devious mental illness or crazy moms fogging his decisions, no, just him.

And he had thought that it would be okay. That somehow going back to normal would be okay.

When he had left for the army he had been heartbroken which had made it easier to go, and later at the club the mania and drugs had done a good job at numbing the pain in his heart.

Until he had woken up on that mattress on the floor, Svetlana glaring down at him like she wanted to murder him and the following year had been the best and most terrible time of his life.

 

When he had come back from his trip with Monica his head had been full of the shit his mom had told him. That the people around him saw nothing but the disease in him, that everybody wanted to fix him.

That time it had been wallowing in self-pity that had numbed the feeling of missing a part of himself and later it had been his poor attempts of new relationships.

 

But now there was nothing to distract him. And even if there was, he knew it wouldn’t work this time.

He had known before, but listening to Frank’s speech at Monica’s funeral had been like a punch in the face, like a wake up call.

_‘My pilot light was out and Monica was the gas company.’_

_‘She taught me how to live, she changed everything. We loved a lot. We fought a lot. She was strong. And I wouldn’t be who I am and you wouldn’t be who you are if she hadn’t come into our lives.’_

 

Going back to normal was not okay.

 

‘You’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did.’

Whoever had said this was wrong because Ian regret the things he had done more than anything.

 

They had watched him, Fiona and Lip and Debbie and they hadn’t known what to do. How to react to his outbursts of frustration or him zoning out in the middle of supper, completely forgetting what was happening around him.

Sue had sent him home from work more than once because he couldn’t concentrate. His doctor had checked if it was his meds who didn’t do their job but it didn’t have anything to do with them. Ian didn’t need a doctor to figure that out.

 

One day Fiona had lost her patience, practically screamed at him that if he knew what was wrong he should tell them because she would go crazy if he kept acting like that.

So he had told Lip and Debbie and Fiona. Told them that he hadn’t been working for three days straight and slept at the station as he had said when Monica had died. He had told them the truth and how he felt about it, although it was impossible to find words to properly describe how much he missed him.

 

Lip and Fiona had remained silent but Debbie simply said, “If you love someone you gotta fight for that person.” That wasn’t really helpful because if Ian knew something it was fighting for the people you love but in this case he didn’t know how to fight.

Debbie’s next words had changed that. “I mean it’s really unfair. We didn’t even try to kill Sammi, we just wanted to show her that you don’t mess with us.”

 

The next day, he had visited Sammi in prison and asked her and Debbie everything about the roofie incident. To his surprise Sammi had been kinda sorry about betraying him and after hours of arguing, cursing, begging and the promise of a bank account with two thousand dollars, she had agreed to revise her testimony.

 

The case got reopened.

 

It turned out that not only had Sammi changed the truth a little bit so the charge would be attempted murder but also the court system of Illinois had fucked up. Badly.

Together with an eager lawyer Ian revealed that there hadn’t even been a proper court procedure, just a 15 years prison sentence for something that didn’t happen.

 

Now, five months later, Ian had a big envelope that contained a thick stack of paper which described the whole mess of the lawsuit that had taken place during the last months.

It was laying on Debbie’s desk, heavy and promising because this envelope held his all his hopes. It held his future.

The outcome of a nerve-wracking court hearing was five years for destroying government property while escaping from prison but since the convict had been doing time for something he didn’t do, the judge had decided on probation.

For the first time in six months Ian had felt like he could breathe again.

 

His rucksack was packed with everything Ian had been able to fit into the small space. He couldn’t carry a big suitcase with him, he needed as little weight as possible so he could drive around through a whole country, look for his soulmate.

 

Getting off from work hadn’t been easy but he had worked an endless amount of overtime during the last couple months and after a long discussion with his boss he had got four weeks of unpaid vacation. All in all he had one and a half months. Not a lot considering the size of Mexico.

He could be everywhere. But Ian would go to the coast first. They had talked about the beach so he would look there.

But he knew there was a 99% chance of failing if he didn’t get the help he was hoping for so badly.

 

Ian teared his eyes off the quote on the wall and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would go and try to get the love of his life back.

 

 

“You know what I said, when you asked me about running away with Jimmy/Steve, was because you practically asked me if you should run off with a wanted fugitive” Fiona whispered as she hugged him, “Things are different now and I want you to know that I hope you won’t come back alone.”

Ian nodded. “I know.” All of his sibling had shown a surprising amount of support for him during the last months.

Liam came from behind, slinging his skinny arms around Ian. “Good luck” he said.

“Thanks buddy” Ian responded and ruffled through his little brother’s curly black hair.

 

Lip drove him to the airport in Fiona’s car, Lip’s favorite band on highest volume and his brother sang along, loud and out of tune. The beating of Ian’s heart was louder.

About an hour later Lip pulled into the parking lot of O’Hare International airport. He was the only one of their family who had ever been on a plane when he went down to Miami to visit Amanda so Ian got even more nervous than he already was when they entered the terminal.

Lip had checked him in online yesterday and he didn’t have any luggage except his backpack so he only had to go through security check.

 

“Don’t fuck it up, Ian”, Lip said as they hugged, “You’re a Gallagher but that doesn’t mean you have to be as shitty at relationships as Frank, Fiona and me, okay?”

“Kinda too late for that” Ian admitted but Lip shook his head, “You two have always found back to each other and you can do it again.”

Ian tried to smile but felt like he failed. He wasn’t sure if would get another chance. Hell, he didn’t know if he would give himself another chance. But he would try.

 

The flight was about 5 and a half hours long but less scary than he had feared. It had cost him a shitload of money but Ian didn’t want to lose precious time by going all the way down by bus.

His heart jumped in his chest when the plane landed on the runway. He was in fucking Mexico.

 

The air was hot as hell and the sun was burning down at him and he could basically feel his skin crawling at the sudden change of the amount of UV light. He had had to wear long shirts last fall when he had been here but now during the summer it was a nightmare for his type of skin color.

He shouldered his backpack and followed the crowd of passengers into the airport building where he was welcomed with the relief of air conditioning. Unlike most of the other people who had been in the plane with him he didn’t wait at the baggage claim since he had nothing but his backpack and his jacket but made his way into the big entrance hall. There was a bunch of snack bars and coffee shops on one side of the hall but on the other one he spotted what he was looking for, a car rental.

 

“Hello!”, the woman behind the counter greeted as he came closer, according to the tag on her shirt her name was Sara. “How can I help you?” she asked with a thick Spanish accent. She was smiling at him with white teeth but it seemed fake.

“Uhm, I would like to rent a car for six weeks” he answered.

“How big?”

“Two people.”

She started typing on her keyboard, visibly chewing the piece of gum in her mouth, “Name?”

“Ian Gallagher.”

“Driver’s license, please” she said, impatiently waving her hand. He took his wallet out of his pocket and gave her his license. She looked at it and nodded, “So these are the cars you can choose from.”

She started to explain all the different options and what they would cost but he quickly cut her off, settling for the cheapest offer.

 

When she was done typing all of his personal information into the system and shit she pointed towards the hallway on the right. “Go this way. You’ll see a sign which says ‘Car Rental Lopez’. One of my co-workers there will show you your car.”

He thanked her and took the key she handed him before he headed in the direction she had shown him.

Ten minutes later he was sitting in a small old VW Rabbit with stained seats and way too little space for his long as fuck legs but he didn’t give a shit because this trashy car would carry him through Mexico. It would hopefully bring him home. He had learned a long time ago that home wasn’t necessarily a place. For him, home was a person.

 

He took out his phone and texted Fiona that he had landed in Tampico and was about to hit the road. But first he had to make a call. Get the help he definitely needed in order to succeed.

He dialed and held his breath as he was waiting for her to pick up.

 

“Ian?” She sounded shocked and he couldn’t blame her. They were best friends but they hadn’t talked since she had slept one night at the Gallagher house over a year ago.

“Hi Mandy.”

“You’re in some deep shit you need to get dragged out of?” she asked, a small smile in her voice.

“Yeah, kinda” he admitted. God, it was good to hear her voice.

“What is it?”

“I need an address.”

 

He discussed with her for thirty minutes straight. Mandy refused to give him what he wanted at first. Turned out she was pissed as fuck after she had heard what he had pulled at the border and he couldn’t really blame her. But eventually she gave in. After Ian had confessed that he was already in Mexico with a five year probation sentence for her brother, instead of fifteen years in prison, and the promise he wouldn’t fuck it up again.

 

“I don’t know which street but the town is called Boca del Río. He lives there in some apartment, got some German girl as a roommate, we talk like every second week.” She paused, obviously hesitating to say what she was thinking but then she went on,

“Ian, if he doesn’t wanna come with you, leave it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

 

It was a lie. The second he found him he wouldn’t be able to go without him.

 

He went to the center of Tampico and found a grocery store where he bought enough food to survive the next couple of days. He also got a small Spanish-English dictionary because the only words he knew in Spanish were ‘Hola’ and ‘gracias’.

There hadn’t been a map in the store and he didn’t know where to go. He looked around, searching for a tourist information or some shit when he heard a knock on the window of the car.

A guy who seemed like he was at least a hundred years old looked at him and Ian let the window down.

 

“You look lost, maybe I can help” he said. His grinning mouth contained about five teeth.

“Uhm, I wanna go to Boca del Río.” He wasn’t sure if he had pronounced the name correctly but the guy nodded like he knew what Ian was talking about. “Follow signs to city of Veracruz. When you there, ask for Boca del Río. They will show you.”

“Thank you.”

He had a route.

 

Driving through the narrow streets of the city, following the instructions of the toothless man on how to get out of Tampico and on the right road to Veracruz, Ian tried to take in every bit of Mexico he could get. _This is the country where he lives now_ he thought, looking at the colorful but often shabby houses, the rattly old cars, similar to the one he was sitting in, and the people. The city was full of people, like downtown Chicago but other than in the windy city they didn’t seem rushed. More relaxed but full of life.

He watched two girls jumping and singing on the sidewalk, their voices light and happy, while he was waiting at a crossroad. The girls’ mother was talking into her phone, speaking faster than anyone Ian had ever heard. Even if it hadn’t been another language he wouldn’t have understood her.

 

Although Tampico looked really nice Ian couldn’t shake off the feeling of insecurity. He was in a foreign country he didn’t speak the language of and more importantly he was alone. _Not as alone as he was_ Ian thought, as he remembered that he had a bunch of siblings who knew where he was and what he was doing and supporting him.

 

After being stuck in traffic for about an hour he finally reached the highway that would lead him to Veracruz, out of Tampico and into the vastness of Mexico. Other than he had expected the landscape around him was quite green, not like the dusty North of Mexico.

He opened the window and breathed in the chilly headwind, cooling his skin. He had been here for about an hour now and was already covered in sweat, dripping down his forehead. He didn’t give a fuck. Because he felt free. Rushing on the road, music playing on the radio, pushing down the gas pedal as far as possible because the damn car wasn’t fast enough.

While he was driving Ian tried to think of a way how to do this. What would he say? What were the right words? Were there the right words?

He didn’t know. Because no matter what explanation and apology his brain came up with, it wasn’t enough. Didn’t convey what he really felt and his need for him to come with him.

 

The sky turned black and night came over the endless road. Ian didn’t slow down. He had stopped to take a leak about two hours ago and didn’t even think twice about staying in a motel for the night. According to the sign that he was passing right now and that said ‘Veracruz’ it was only fifty more miles. Fifty. More. Miles.

His hands gripped more tightly around the steering wheel and he tried to ignore the weight that had been on his heart for the last year and a half, except for those three days on the run with the love of his life, and that was getting heavier now because his fear and his hope grew bigger as he came closer to the end of his trip. He couldn’t fully believe it, felt like his brain had a hard time processing the fact that he was actually here. That he was actually doing this. This was real. And he couldn’t fuck it up again.

 

About half an hour later he reached Veracruz. The street lamps on both sides of the street illuminating the houses he was passing, he made his way into the city, looking for someone he could ask for the route to Boca del Río. After driving through a bunch of empty streets in residential areas he came downtown. Hundreds of people were on the street, sitting in one of the countless restaurants, dancing to the music of a little band on the sidewalk, or drinking cocktails at the bar at a corner. He saw both, tourists, and people who were clearly Mexicans.

 

“Órale” a young woman with short black hair said, walking towards his car, “Pareces perdido.”

He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry but I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Lucky for you my parents forced me to go to the international high school of Veracruz so my English is okay” she replied, her face lighting up in a big smile. “How can I help?”

“Uhm”, Ian said, “I wanna go to Boca del Río.”

“Really?” the woman asked and smiled even wider, “That’s where I live. How about you give me a ride and I tell you where to go?”

For the split of a second he thought that maybe this was a big scam and this girl would guide him to her daddy’s big mansion which was the headquarter of the local drug cartel, but her eyes seemed like she had nothing but the intention to help him and get a free ride home. So he nodded and she got into the passenger seat.

 

“Okay, you gotta follow this street and then at the third road you turn right.”

He started driving again, following her instructions.

“I’m Luciana by the way, but everyone just calls me Lucy” she said while they were waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

“Ian”, he answered, “Can’t really make that shorter.”

She laughed. It was loud and bright. “So what are you doing here, Ian? Vacation?”

“Sort of.”

“What hotel are you staying in?”

He didn’t answer right away because he didn’t have a hotel to sleep at. There was no hotel in his plan. The only plan was getting his soulmate back.

“None” he finally admitted as he noticed the curios look Lucy was giving him.

“Got a friend here? Or some relatives?” she kept digging and Ian didn’t know what to tell her. The light turned green and he hit the gas pedal following the wide road they were on.

 

“You seem pretty nervous” Lucy continued, ignoring that he hadn’t answered her question. “Okay, now turn right and drive until I tell you otherwise.”

He obeyed and took a deep breath because yeah, she was damn right. He was beyond nervous. Full of hope and fear. He had no idea what he would find, if he would find anything at all and even if he did there was a really big chance that he would be told to fuck off.

“Yeah, I’m kinda nervous” he said because there was no point in denying it but he really played it down by using the term ‘kinda’.

She didn’t ask more, obviously sensing that he wasn’t in the mood of bragging about the things on his mind to a complete stranger. Instead she guided him all the way to Boca del Río and told him to stop at the corner of a small house that was painted in light blue.

 

“Thanks” Ian said and she gave him another smile but hesitated to get out of the car. “You wanna grab a drink with me at the place over there?” she asked, pointing at a small bar on the other side of the street, “they make really good cocktails. Could help you relax a little.” Ian highly doubted that but Lucy was looking at him with a hopeful smile and a look at his watch told him it was way after midnight by now. Since he had no idea where to go and this part of the town was pretty empty right now so he couldn’t ask around for the person he was looking for, he might as well get out of the car before going to sleep since he had spent more than eight hours in it. Plus, he felt like if he was alone right now he would go nuts, regardless of his meds, because he was probably only a few miles away from the guy, he missed like hell, and couldn’t immediately find him.

 

“Okay”, he said, “but do they have soda as well? Can’t really drink much.”

“Course” Lucy answered and Ian thanked her silently because she didn’t ask about the not-drinking thing. They crossed the street and entered the bar. The whole room was full of people, chatting loudly, cheering and downing shots of booze but Ian didn’t notice any of that.

He didn’t believe in God or any other heavenly force but in this very moment he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was some spectre with the name ‘fate’ that really liked him because as Ian looked to the bar, barely visible because of all the people in front of it, he saw him.

 

Time stopped. There was no noise around Ian. No Lucy next to him, or the room full of people. Just them. He felt like he couldn’t breath, the weight on his chest heavier than ever but at the same time he felt as light as he never had before. His body was frozen, his feet glued to the hardwood floor underneath him. Ian just looked at him.

 

He was behind the bar, pouring beer into a big glass before he handed  it to one of the guys sitting on the stools at the counter. His black hair was a little longer since the last time they saw each other, more looking like it had when he had been running away from Sammi who was trying to shoot him, while Ian had turned around and gone into his house, chatting with V and Fiona.

His skin wasn’t as pale as he remembered it but that was obviously due to the fact that the sun burned even hotter here than it did in Chicago on its hottest days of the year.

Apart from that he looked exactly like the last time they had seen each other. Ian couldn’t suppress the quiet choked sob escaping his throat. He barely noticed Lucy turning her head at him.

 

And then Mickey looked up.

Looked at him. Frowned.

 

They stared at each other. Despite the distance between them Ian could see the familiar blue in Mickey’s eyes, those eyes in which he had seen every emotion, anger, worry, love, pain, fear, happiness. Whenever he looked into his eyes he knew how Mickey felt. Except now.

Now he was staring at Mickey and had absolutely no idea what he was thinking because Mickey stared back without showing any kind of emotion.

Ian knew Mickey was waiting for him to make the next move, knew that it was his turn this time to fix this. Mickey had done it too many times before to just come back to him the second Ian showed up.

So Ian stepped forward and walked to the bar, his eyes never leaving Mickey’s. He stopped right in front of the old battered wood of the counter.

 

“Hey, Mick.”

 

Mickey opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a Mexican woman with long black hair that was also bartending. “Your shift’s over Mickey and Lilly is waiting outside. Call it a night, okay?” She didn’t notice Ian and turned around to serve an impatient looking guy at the other end of the bar and Ian looked back at Mickey, silently begging him to say something. He didn’t.

He just left his spot behind the bar and disappeared through a door which probably lead to a back room, Ian assumed. He followed Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked different people who have studied law at university and told them about Mickey’s case. Everyone of them said that the case would have to be reopened and discussed again, so I hope my scenario is kinda realistic.


	5. Die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey talk some shit out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if the changes in tense are confusing but we learned a lot in school about how the use of different tenses has certain effects on the way you connect with a story and I wanted to try it.
> 
> And thank you so much for the awesome feedback, please let me know what you think about his capter :)

I was standing outside behind Juana’s bar, smoking and waiting for Mickey to come out so we could go home and have our usual Friday movie night. It was already pretty late but that never stopped us from being stupid enough to stay up until 3am because we both wouldn’t have to work the next day.

My hopes for a good few hours on the couch doing shit with Mickey got crashed when the door to the back of the bar opened and Mickey stormed outside, not even bothering to look at me, followed by a tall guy that I had never seen before.

“Hey, Mickey…” I started but both of them were already past me and didn’t slow down or noticed me. I watched them as they headed towards the beach, it was almost empty by now, only illuminated by the few street lamps on both sides of the narrow street between the bar and the sand.

 

Suddenly the guy behind Mickey reached forward and grabbed his shoulder, causing him to spin around. They were facing each other now and I could finally look at the newcomer properly. In the diffuse light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of fiery red hair. He was a good bit taller than Mickey, something like 6 feet maybe? – I had spent several months in the US but still didn’t know shit about the weird measurements.

I wasn’t close enough to understand their words or to watch the expressions on their faces but despite the distance I could see, no, ,more like feel, something between them. I couldn’t really pinpoint what it was but the word _fire_ seemed like a fairly appropriate description.

 

And then, all over sudden, it clicked. Just standing there, looking at the two of them, black and red hair, short and tall, it clicked. Mickey and this guy had history. A big one. And the redhead was the mystery Mickey had never told me about.

 

*

 

Mickey was furious. He had imagined countless scenarios of the ways Ian would come to see him one day and he hadn’t known how he would react because seriously he hadn’t thought that he would actually see Ian again. However, he hadn’t expected the rage he would feel at the sight of him. Even though he knew deep inside of him that the feeling of anger was in fact just a tiny bit of the emotions in his heart, next to disappointment, sadness and – he couldn’t feint himself – hope. Because no matter how tiny the chances of seeing him again had been, there still had been hope. ‘Die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt’ he remembered another one of Lilly’s stupid proverbs, ‘Hope is the last to die’.

 

But despite the overwhelming feeling of joy that Ian was here, standing in front of him, the anger was stronger for now.

“Your fancy life too fucking boring Gallagher? You want to get away for a few weeks before you return to the respectable job and the nice little boyfriend?” His voice gushing with sarcasm.

Something dropped in Ian’s eyes, still staring at him. It felt less good than he wished it would.

 

“Boyfriend’s long gone.”

Mickey swallowed a bitter laugh at the irony of that statement.

 

“I’m sorry!” Ian said and it sounded so fucking honest, so genuine. So different from the last time he said it, back at the border, his voice oddly secure, cutting deep into Mickey and leaving bleeding marks. Now his voice was shaking, filled with the emotions he was obviously trying to hold back.

Mickey remembered only two times when Ian had looked nearly as desperate as he did now. At Mickey’s wedding and on the porch of the Gallagher house, telling him that he didn’t want Mickey to fix him, ignoring the fact that it wasn’t at all what he had tried to do.

 

It would be so easy.

 

But then his mind recalled more of Ian’s words at the border. ‘This isn’t me anymore.’

 

That had hurt the most. Did Ian really think that Mickey was still the same guy he had been when they had met? Being with Ian had changed him, made him to want to do better. Hell, he had been happy during that short period of time when they had lived with Yev and Svetlana, when everything had seemed okay.

At the border Ian had made it sound like Mickey had a choice, that he had chosen to run away but that was bullshit and Ian knew it. Mickey had been scared shitless but getting picked up by the police and being dragged back to prison, locked up for life, was worse than living in another country as the slightly safer option than staying in America. But unlike Mickey Ian had had a choice and he had made a decision and Mickey even got why Ian had chosen the way he had. Didn’t make it hurt less, though.

 

“I asked Fiona if she had ever thought about running off with Jimmy/Steve”, Ian said, taking a step forward. Mickey stepped back. Ian flinched but continued, “She said she was glad that she didn’t do it and I said ‘But what if nothing ever gives you that same thrill again’.” He swallowed before he went on, “On our way to the border I realized that I was wrong. I didn’t miss the thrill, no, I was so scared to get caught. I had just missed you.”

Although it was dark, Mickey was pretty sure Ian’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Everyone always thought that you were nothing more than a South Side thug, another fuck up, dangerous. You showed me that they were wrong, that I was wrong. We fought a war to be together and I threw it all away.

And I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

Ian stepped forward again but Mickey flinched. He knew that Ian really meant those words, that he still loved Mickey. But that didn’t change the fact that Mickey was a fugitive and Ian was an upstanding citizen with an awesome job back in Chicago, a family that loved him and the wish to keep said life. He wouldn’t be Ian’s dirty little secret down in Mexico, waiting for another visit every few months or years or whatever.

 

The backpack that had been hanging over Ian’s shoulder was now sitting in the sand and he rummaged through it until he took out a big brown envelope.

“Please read this” he said, holding it out to him.

 

*

 

Mickey eyed him, his gaze still full of mistrust and hurt but also something that Ian hoped was the beginning of forgiveness. He took the envelope and weighed it in his hands.

Suddenly Ian heard someone coming closer from behind and Mickey looked up and past him. Ian turned around and saw a girl coming towards them. She was pretty short with long blond hair and a curious look on her face.

 

She opened her mouth to say something but Mickey shut her off. “Don’t Lilly, we’re leaving.” Ian tried his best at keeping his face from falling but knew he failed miserably. Mickey saw it and gave him hope. “I’ll read it”, he promised.

Ian reached into his pocket and grabbed the black burner phone Mickey had placed at the dugout last fall and held it up. “You call me when you’re done?” He was pretty sure even Lilly, she must be the roommate Mandy had talked about, could hear the need in his voice although, judging by the look she was giving him, she had no clue who he was.

 

“We’ll see” was all Mickey said before he turned around and him an Lilly disappeared into the night. It wasn’t a yes but neither was it a no, not yet. And Ian knew that was the best he would get right now, the best Mickey could give him.

 

He returned to the crowded bar. Lucy was sitting in the booth in the corner and shot him a questioning look but he shook his head and told her he would just go to his car and try to get some sleep. All over sudden he noticed how exhausting the journey had been. His hope and nervousness had kept him going, he had ignored the need to sleep, had forgotten to eat enough. Now that he had found Mickey and could do nothing but wait, tiredness took over. Fortunately he had remembered to take his meds but he was well aware that any kind of unsteadiness was dangerous so he really needed to get some rest.

First he protested as Lucy refused to let him sleep in his car and dragged him to her place but he gave up when he was laying on her big couch in her tiny apartment. She wished him a good night and he did the same but his mind was full of thoughts of Mickey and so much hope that it hurt. By the time he finally dozed off, the first rays of sunshine were creeping through the window.

 

*

 

Mickey could practically feel Lilly’s burning gaze on him as they were walking to their apartment, the envelope thick and heavy in his hands. He knew she was almost bursting, trying to keep her mouth shut and not ask what the fuck had just happened. And that was good because he wouldn’t know what to tell her since he himself couldn’t really believe it.

Ian was back. Back in Mexico and although it probably wasn’t for long and Mickey was still really fucking pissed off, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of hope that Ian had relit in him the second he handed him this envelope. He had no idea what was in there and he hated to admit it but he really wanted to find out.

Lilly lasted until they reached their home and Mickey was unlocking the door. He was kinda impressed.

“So, who was that?” she asked. She was probably trying to sound casual but did a really shitty job.

Mickey stepped inside and closed the door behind him, Lilly was already taking off her shoes in a poor attempt to pretend everything was normal.

“Ian” he answered because he knew she wouldn’t give up after what had just happened and unless he would give her _something_. So why bother to wait when he would just tell her anyway at some point. She clearly wasn’t satisfied, since Mickey had never mentioned the whole Ian story but it was enough to shut her up for a while so Mickey slumped down on the couch, the envelope on his lap.

Lilly sat down next to him, shooting him a nervous look, seeming like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay.

It was fucking weird but somehow he didn’t really mind her sitting there, hell, maybe he didn’t even want to do this alone. Mickey was afraid of what he might find in this envelope. He had no fucking idea what it could be but he tried to keep his hope down. Hope and trust meant hurt.

 

The edges of the thick brown paper were crumpled where they had hit the inside of Ian’s backpack. There was no label on it, nothing that gave him a clue to the content. He found the side were the envelope had been closed and slowly ripped the paper, creating a growing vent.

Paper. A whole fucking lot of paper was in the envelope, a thick stack, each piece laying neatly one above the other. He took the whole stack out and threw the now ripped envelope in the corner.

 

‘STATE OF ILLIONOIS – CIRCUIT COURT OF COOK COUNTY, Criminal Division’ it said at the top of the first page. Mickey’s heart skipped a beat.

 

And then he started reading.

 

*

 

Mickey was silent, completely preoccupied with reading through the pile of paper on his lap. He had just nodded when I had asked if I could read the pages he was done with and immediately resumed reading.

 

We spent more than an hour on Mickey’s couch, reading everything about the hell of a trail and the efforts of a certain Ian Gallagher and his lawyer, slowly processing the shitload of information filling our heads.

As the pile on the floor grew bigger and the one on Mickey’s lap smaller, my mind was being stuffed with countless law and court terms I didn’t really understand. What I did understand though was that this Ian guy and his lawyer had revealed how much of a shitshow the lawsuit had been that had put Mickey behind the bars of Cook County Corrections.

 

When Mickey began to read through, what I assumed, were the last ten pages of the stack, he froze. I looked up from the sheet I was reading and looked at him. His eyes were glued to the paper in his hands but they didn’t move.

“Mickey?”

He didn’t answer, just kept staring at whatever was on that paper. I leaned forward to get a look at the small black letters on his sheet.

 

Five years on probation.

 

Mickey was a free man.

 

*

 

Ian woke up to the bubbling sound of the coffee brewer and a delicious smell he couldn’t put a name on. He lifted his head and saw Lucy standing behind the counter of her small open kitchen, a spatula in her hand, cheerfully humming a song he had never heard before.

“Buenas días” she said as she looked up from the pan she was holding and smiled at him. “How was the night? Are you feeling better?”

No. No, he wasn’t feeling better because the second Ian had opened his eyes, the events of last night came crashing down on him, leaving him with a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach and the heavy weight of hope and fear on his chest. He quickly reached for the small black phone that was laying on the coffee table.

Nothing.

Ian took a deep breath. _Give him time_.

 

Lucy was balancing two plates and two mugs with coffee on her hands as she made her way to the couch and put everything on the coffee table.

“Son tortillas” she said pointing at he food on the plates that reminded Ian of wraps. “They’re filled with vegetables and my special sauce.”

“Thank you for letting me stay here and for the coffee and the food and shit” Ian said because he really felt the need to tell her that. He had no idea why she was being so nice to him. Maybe…

“I don’t really know how to put this but I’m not-“

“Interested in me, I know” she said and smiled, “I figured pretty quickly but don’t worry that’s not why I let you sleep on my couch.”

She laughed at the obvious expression of relief on his face.

“I just didn’t want to leave you in an old shabby car. You look anything but Mexican with your hair and your skin, the prefect target for one of the gangs here.”

“Well, thank you” Ian repeated.

“You’re welcome gringo. Now eat your food.”

 

If Lucy was offended by the fact that he barely got anything down his throat she didn’t show it. The food was beyond incredible but he felt like he might throw up if he would eat more.

She told him that it was her day off today and offered to show him the town which he hesitatingly agreed to. He didn’t feel like doing tourist stuff at all but the shitload of emotions rushing through his body were already making him restless and he knew he would go out of his mind if he stayed in the apartment all day.

 

Ian was pretty sure Lucy sensed his uneasiness because she guided him to a calmer part of the town, with less people running around and the beach right in front of them. They sat down in a small café and Lucy ordered unbelievably well-tasting fruity drinks for them. Just like this morning she eyed him curiously as he took the three small orange plastic containers out of his backpack and swallowed a pill from each one.

She didn’t ask though, but when he put them back and grabbed the black phone instead, checking it for the thousandth time within an hour, she was obviously done with watching his strange behavior. Ian couldn’t really blame her.

 

“What’s so special about that phone?”, she asked, not sounding suspicious just genuinely interested, “Does it have anything to do with you disappearing for ten minutes yesterday?”

She probably had no clue how damn right she was.

He didn’t really know why but he told her. Maybe it was because he felt like he couldn’t breath because of the weight on his chest and he hoped that talking about it would make it a little bit easier, or maybe he just trusted Lucy, despite the fact that he had just met her yesterday. Probably both. So he told her a short version of the story why he was here. That he was looking for the love of his life who he had found at the bar last night. Mainly he talked about how fucking scared he was, how much hope he had, how angry he was at himself for what he had done.

Lucy just listened, zipping her drink, remaining silent.

When Ian was finished Lucy only said; “I hope you get a call soon.”

And yeah, Ian hoped so too.

 

The phone buzzed at ten at night. Lucy was trying to teach Ian how to make chili con carne, which wasn’t hard at all unless you’re a fucking mess because you’re waiting for a message from the person you love, hoping that you’ll get another chance after you fucked up big time.

He jumped as the phone started to vibrate, dropped the spoon he was holding and ran to the coffee table.

It was a text message with an address.

 

“That’s just down the road and then to the right” Lucy said when he read the message to her.

He told himself to stay calm but it wasn’t working. In a few minutes he would see him again.

“Good luck!” Lucy called after him as he went outside into the gloomy dusk of the upcoming night.

The sky was full of clouds, hanging heavy and grey, making the air humid and it even harder for him to breath.

During his walk to Mickey’s apartment Ian’s brain recalled countless memories.

 

The front yard of the Milkovich house, full of trash and old empty beer cans. His fingers gripping tightly around the tire iron in his hand. The ‘Stay the fuck out’ sign on the door of Mickey’s bedroom, held in place by grey duck tape. Walls full of posters, showing guns, weed and bands. The spoon poster hanging right above the bed, Mickey’s, and later also Ian’s favorite band.

Mickey sleeping. The fight. The sex. Their first time together.

 

The bang of Kash’s gun releasing the bullet, shooting it into Mickey’s thigh right above his knee. His yelling; ‘It’s a fucking Snicker’s bar!’ Ian leaning over Mickey, saying ‘Look at me’ and Mickey shouting at Kash that he fucking sucks.

 

Mickey’s face behind the glass of the visiting booth. Trying to hide the smile on his face as Ian tells him that he got Kash to put money in his commissary account. Mickey’s threat to pull Ian’s tongue out of his head and the memory of his own stupid grin. His hand pressing against the cold glass separating them. ‘Take your hand off the glass’.

 

Mickey’s voice asking; ‘The hell is he doing here’, Mickey hugging Mandy. Yelling ‘Fuck you, fuck you and especially fuck you!’ at the guards, flipping them off. Yeah, juvie probably sucked. But Mickey’s released now.

 

Shotgunning beers at the baseball field at night. Sex. The pissing on first base story from back in little league. Pull-ups. Mickey lighting a smoke, mumbling; ‘I’m fucked for life anyway, man.’

A tear escaped Ian’s eye. Because Mickey had been right.

‘Jesus Christ, you wanna spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?’. Ian thinking, yeah, maybe, still feeling his own stupid smile back then. Four years later they had indeed laid on a blanket, looking at the moon above them.

Round two.

 

Frank catching them in the freezer of the Kash n’ Grab. Mickey’s fear. Mickey’s fear of people finding out. Mickey’s fear of Terry.

 

Frank saying; ‘Jack Daniel’s and orange juice mix better than I would’ve imagined.’

Mickey had laughed when Ian had told him about that on their way down to the border. His real, honest laughing that was so rare that even Ian had barely got to hear it.

 

The rage in Mickey’s eyes. Ian telling that they got nothing to be ashamed of. Mickey responding; ‘What fucking world do you live in’. Ian pleading him to stay. Mickey shouting; ‘What did I just say to you! Done is done, you think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend here, you’re nothing but a warm mouth to me!’

 

Mickey coming back from another stint in juvie. Kicking the idiot’s ass Ian had just been fucking.

Great sex under the bleachers. Mickey dropping a ‘Missed ya’, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Ian’s heart filling with joy at that statement.

 

Countless hot as balls beautiful summer nights at their spot, the dugouts. With beer and weed and fucking.

 

Ned’s fancy ass villa. The Milkovich brothers disappearing into the house. Mickey running back into the van, pressing his lips against Ian’s, hard and brief. Their first kiss. Ian is so in love by now that it hurts.

Ned’s stupid wife screaming and shooting. Mickey and his brothers running towards the van, Ian starting the engine. Mickey’s curses as he gets shot. The second time and again kinda because of Ian.

 

Mickey laying on the counter of their kitchen, bare ass up, Ned poking the bullet out. Ian holding the lamp to give his ex-fuck buddy some light so he can get the damn bullet out of the person Ian loves.

‘Ian, WHAT THE FUCK?!’ It’s Fiona, staring at the mess in their kitchen.

He couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit at that memory.

 

The way was longer than Ian had expected and there was nothing to distract him from the next events his mind forced him to think of.

 

Terry and Mickey’s brothers going on a drug run for a couple days. They have the house all to themselves. Fucking in a bed for the first time in ages. Watching action movies, Mickey making him pizza rolls. Making out on the couch for hours. Ian being in fucking paradise because Mickey finally letting him kiss him is even better than Ian imagined in his best dreams.

The next morning. The bang of the front door as Terry returns early, too early and catches them together.

The taste of blood in his mouth from Terry’s fists. Terry bashing Mickey’s head until he’s unconscious and blood everywhere.

Terry calls the Russian.

Ian has to watch as Mickey is being raped by a russian prostitute while his dad is holding a gun at them.

 

Mickey’s drunk. Doesn’t respond when Ian asks who the fuck he’s marrying. Ian pushes. ‘You love me. And you’re gay. Just admit it. Just this once fucking admit it.’ Mickey’s knuckles colliding with his jaw.

 

‘You call me a punk for wanting a boyfriend or whatever but you’re gonna marry someone who screws guys for a living?!’ Ian knows now who Mickey’s marrying. Svetlana the russian hooker. She’s pregnant. Mickey’s standing there in his tux, cigarette between his fingers.

In hindsight Ian remembered that they were trembling.

A kiss, rough and desperate. Sex. ‘You’re gonna tell everyone to leave?’ Ian is confident. Stupid.

Because, no, Mickey is not blowing his forced wedding off. They fight. Mickey’s voice is quiet at the end; ‘Not everybody gets to just- Not everybody just gets to blurt out how they fucking feel every minute.’

In hindsight Ian knew this had been a cry for help.

And a confession of love.

 

But at that time it’s not enough for him so he leaves. Mickey’s choked ‘Don’t’, voice breaking, isn’t enough. Ian leaves.

 

 

Ian was standing in front of a white apartment building, neither small nor big, just looking like all the other houses in this street. This was were Mickey lived. His breaths were sounding choked by now, more like heaving. And Ian didn’t know if he would make it back to Lucy’s apartment if Mickey didn’t allow him to stay.

His throat was tight, knees shaking, hands twitching. Another deep breath. And then Ian went upstairs, fingers clenching around the handrail because if they didn’t he would probably fall down.

 

According to the message it was apartment no. 7. The door looked old, its blue paint exfoliating at several spots, exposing the greyish wood underneath. He raised his hand and knocked.

 

Endless seconds of terrible waiting and then the door opened. Mickey stood in front of him in dark sweatpants and a black sleeveless shirt. It instantly reminded Ian of the one Mickey had worn when they had picked Ian up at the police station and brought him to the psych ward, and that he still had in his drawer back in the Gallagher house.

Mickey wordlessly stepped back and let him inside. Keeping distance. And it cost all of Ian’s strength to not wrap his arms around him and never let go of him again.

They were standing in a small hallway, the wall behind Mickey made out of brick, a small arch on one side, probably leading to the living room and three doors at the other end, a low table on the wall right across the entrance door and on this table there was laying a small white envelope. Mickey reached for it and held it out to him.

 

“Now I don’t owe you anymore.”

 

The words ripped right into Ian’s heart.

 

“It was a gift.” His voice sounded hoarse from the suppressed sobs in his throat. No. No no no. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be Mickey giving him this goddamn money back and then telling him that he had to go. No.

 

“I didn’t want it, had to use some of it. Took some time to get it back together but here it is.”

And Mickey shoved the money into his hand.

 

And Ian closed his eyes as he saw how Mickey was about to continue and smash his heart.

 

“Mexico is alright. Fuckin’ sunny and warm, nice people.” Mickey paused for a moment before he continued; “But beach during the day sucks, just too freakin’ hot and the fucking sand is everywhere, even in my bed.”

Ian opened his eyes and saw that Mickey was looking at him, blue eyes meeting green. And Ian’s knees gave in when he heard Mickey’s next words.

 

“What can I say I’m South Side, man. Never thought I would say this but I miss it. And according to that shit over there”, he pointed towards a bunch of papers that were spread all over the table in the living room behind him, “you missed me.”


	6. Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing feedback I've got so far, it means a lot to me!  
> This is a short chapter but definitely my favorite so please let me know what you think of it! 
> 
> Also, thanks a lot to the wonderful quietasasleepingarmy (http://archiveofourown.org/users/quietasasleepingarmy/pseuds/quietasasleepingarmy) who gave me some inspiration for this chapter!

In the end it’s easy.

 

Kissing Ian Gallagher is like coming home. One second Ian is just standing there, staring at him with pleading eyes, looking like the fucking kid he was when they had started all this mess, although he is a grown man now. The next second he storms forward, pushes Mickey against the wall behind him so hard that it hurts and crashes their lips together.

Mickey feels like he is finally alive again. No longer a shadow of his old self, kept alive by burning pain and cigarettes and booze, but fully breathing and tasting and smelling and fucking feeling.

The hard bricks of the wall he is pressed against and the hot air around them.

And Ian’s hands gripping his face tightly, not allowing him to get away even if he wanted to, Ian’s body pressed against his own, trapping him between the wall and the person he hates and fucking loves.

Ian’s fingers digging into his skin, touching his jaw, holding him in place because Mickey isn’t sure if his legs are capable of doing their job right now.

Ian’s nose brushing his, Ian’s heavy breath, Ian.

 

And his lips. Sliding over Mickey’s, tasting like mint and beer and Ian, moving against his mouth, forcing him to part his own lips because Ian takes control when they kiss and Mickey loves it, is fucking addicted to it. Craving Ian fucking Gallagher with his whole stupid little heart.

Their tongues meet in Mickey’s mouth and he feels like he’s ultimately falling into the pieces he’s broken into. Loosing every tiny bit of self-control he’s ever had because now Ian is here. And it makes Mickey crack but that’s okay because he can already feel how Ian is gluing him back together, filling him with life by taking his breath away because the kiss doesn’t break.

 

It’s messy and heated and fast and he can taste blood as Ian bites his lip, splitting open the dry skin.

It all feels so fucking familiar, like they haven’t spent the last six months apart from each other.

Mickey thinks back to the night at the little pier in Chicago where they had kissed and fucked for the first time after more than a fucking year. It had felt so similar to what he was experiencing right now but at the same time this is different. Because they have something like a perspective. A future.

Back then all Mickey had was hope, the only thing he could count on because everything else was just so fucked up and that tiny spark of hope had turned into a fucking wildfire when Ian got into the jeep.

 

Ian crushed his hopes at the border and Mickey felt beyond fucking stupid for letting himself hope because somehow he had known. That Ian wouldn’t throw away his new fancy life to be with the dirty piece of South Side shit Mickey is.

‘It’s not… this isn’t me anymore’ Ian said and then ‘I’m sorry.’

At that moment he didn’t give half a fucking shit about the first ‘I love you’ that had come out of Ian’s mouth right before. Even though that was the first and only time someone has said that to Mickey.

 

Now, he is saying it again, over and over again, breathing the words against Mickey’s lips, refusing to let go of their touch. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I lov-“ Mickey interrupts him by kissing him again and Ian understands. He doesn’t have to tell him, Mickey knows that Ian loves him. Because after all Ian lied at the border. This is still him. Ian still needs Mickey, just like Mickey needs Ian.

 

Ian has put a shitload of effort and time into getting Mickey’s ass out of prison. The legal way.

They have a future.

 

Mickey is still mad. Ian still has a lot to make up for. But Ian isn’t the only one who fucked up, Mickey knows that. They both have their fair share of screwing up over the last five years and they have always made it. Always found back to each other because that’s what they do. Get shit thrown at them, create a huge mess and then make it work.

But this time it will last, they will last and stay together. They have to.

 

Suddenly Ian changes their pace. The grip of his hands around Mickey’s jaw loosens and he starts tracing them along Mickey’s neck, the back of his head, his shoulders. He’s still pinned against the wall, held in place by Ian’s body but it’s softer now.

The kiss is no longer slamming lips together. It’s slow. Tender. The kind of kiss Mickey has refused to admit he loves even for a long time after he had finally agreed to kiss in the first place.

He can feel Ian’s tongue against his own and it’s so fucking perfect that he doesn’t even notice the tears falling down his cheeks, escaping his closed eyes, until he can feel Ian’s thumbs stroking over his skin, wiping them away.

 

Ian lets out a soft moan as Mickey sucks gently at his bottom lip, his own arms no longer hanging useless at his sides but one hand placed at the side of Ian’s neck and the other arm slung around his waist.

Eventually they have to break the kiss again in order to get some badly needed air into their lungs but Ian’s mouth is still only half an inch away from his and their foreheads are touching.

He can’t see it because his eyes are still closed but he feels the smile on Ian’s face as they’re standing there, trying to catch their breath, almost panting.

 

*

 

When his breath has reached its normal rate again, Ian buries his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck, inhaling his scent. Mickey smells like smoke and Whiskey and sand and sun and Mick.

Now it’s Ian who cries, wetting the soft skin of Mickey’s neck with salty tears.

Fuck, he _missed_ him.

He doesn’t now how long they’re standing there. It doesn’t matter. At some point Ian moves his head from Mickey’s neck to his temple, feeling his soft skin as he presses his nose in Mickey’s hair on the side of his head. His arms are wrapped around Mickey’s shoulders, hugging him so tightly that Ian feels like he may break one of Mickey’s ribs but he can’t loosen his grip right now.

Somewhere along the line his lips find Mickey’s again, they’re dry and a little bloody from earlier but they’re still smooth and so fucking familiar.

Whenever Ian kisses him he feels like he’s drowning. Drowning in Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich and it’s the best feeling in the world.

 

It is different. They take time, time they have almost never had before in between the backroom of the Kash n’ Grab, the bleachers and the chaos of their houses. They slowly make it to Mickey’s bedroom, lips and bodies pressed against each other, eyes closed. The bed is big and soft and Ian lands on top of Mickey as they slump down on it, Mickey’s fists buried in Ian’s shirt and Ian’s hands delved in black hair.

He can feel Mickey’s hands sliding down his body, touching his neck, his shoulders, his stomach, setting him on fire wherever Mickey’s fingers brush his skin, stopping at his hips right at the bottom of his shirt. They separate for the split of a second as Mickey pulls Ian’s shirt over his head and throws it on the floor and Ian takes his hands out of Mickey’s hair and grips the lower end of Mickey’s shirt, pulling it off in one quick motion.

His fingertips trace over the smooth skin of Mickey’s chest but Ian frowns when he suddenly feels a scar. Right, the tattoo. He opens his eyes because in a weird way Ian loves that tattoo, or better, the meaning behind it. But the tattoo is gone. Instead all Ian can see is a scar, big and permanent.

Tears are filling his eyes again as it hits him. He knows that he has hurt Mickey, badly but this scar really shows how much. He can’t help the image that appears in his mind, the image of Mickey sitting there with a knife, cutting into his own chest near his heart.

His mouth is hovering half an inch above Mickey’s as he is staring at the spot where his name used to be and Mickey remains silent and looks away when Ian turns his gaze to look him in the eyes.

They remain that way for a couple seconds before Ian lowers his head again and they kiss, his hands framing Mickey’s face. It’s gentle and slow and Ian feels like he might explode because of the love pulsing through his body.

 

 

Mickey’s breath hitches as the wave rolls over him and Ian covers his fingers, that dig into the bedsheets, with his own. A shudder goes through Mickey’s body underneath him and seconds later Ian collapses on top of Mickey, buries his face in Mickey’s neck, breathing in his smell because Carl has no idea how true it was when Ian told him that he likes the way Mickey smells. Except now he doesn’t dance around the word ‘love’ anymore.

They stay in this position, Ian’s body covering Mickey’s smaller one, coming down from their high, trying to catch their breath.

No matter how many guys Ian slept with, he’s never had anyone like Mickey. There’s no way to describe it properly but it’s just so much better, so much more intense with him.

Against common belief they don’t do dirty talk, hell, they don’t talk at all except for a hushed ‘fuck’ sometimes or a muffled moan, because they don’t need it. They don’t need words to understand the other.

And that doesn’t only apply during sex, they can spend ages together completely comfortable in silence. When they talk though it’s mostly Ian who tells Mickey about the things on his mind or they just tease each other and sometimes… sometimes Mickey not only shows Ian but also tells him how he feels. And every time that happens Ian is stunned by the way he does it. He knows Mickey thinks he isn’t good with words but he’s wrong. No long speeches or explanations, no, just simple statements, often barely one sentence long. But with so much meaning that Ian can’t really believe how someone can put so much in so few words.

 

_Ian, what you and I have makes me free._

_I love you._

_It means we take care of each other._

_It means thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit._

_You’re under my skin, man. The fuck can I do?_

_That’s what kept me going in the joint. The beach… Us._

 

 _Together._ He remembers it like it was yesterday, laying on the couch, pretending to be asleep and almost jumping off the sofa as he hears Brian asking; ‘So did you guys just meet last night or are you together?’ and Mickey replying; ‘Together.’ That was the first time Mickey had actually confirmed it to someone else, confirmed that Ian was more than a quick fuck to him. Of course he had known, but hearing it had given him security. The security that he wasn’t just imagining the bond between them. That the years of waiting and pushing and fighting were worth it, that they were _together._

 

Mickey’s laying on his side and Ian is spooning him, his face in the back of Mickey’s neck and his arms wrapped around him. He can’t help the smile creeping up his face as his no-longer ex boyfriend snuggles closer to him, their limbs tangled together in the mess of sheets.

The weight on his chest is gone and Ian feels light but at the same time more grounded than ever before.

 

In the process of dozing of his mind remembers a thousand more moments between them.

 

There’s not much left of that night at the club when Mickey comes and brings him home. Only the fuzzy memory of a lap dance that Mickey doesn’t enjoy at all and later it’s the feeling of strong arms picking him up, being carried on a muscular shoulder. Svetlana’s angry eyes staring down at him the next morning and her threat to bash his head with her hammer are a little more clear.

 

The few weeks in the safety of his home, Mickey making him coffee, coming to work with him scaring every guy off who dares to even look at Ian for more than a few seconds, Mickey’s hand reaching up from his position on the floor next to Ian’s bed, interwining their fingers.

And then one night Mickey obviously decides to fuck it because he crawls under Ian’s blanket despite Carl and Liam in the room, and lets Ian spoon him.

 

The christening. The anger rushing through his veins as he watches Mickey, Terry and Svetlana playing happy family. The insults he throws at Mickey, ‘You think you’re a tough man, huh. You’re not. You’re a coward.’ Mickey’s words as Ian’s already halfway out the door; ‘Hey! Excuse me. Can I get everybody’s attention please! I just want everybody here to know, I’m fucking gay! Big ol’ ‘mo. Thought everybody should know that.’ Ian stares at him, unable to move. The look in Mickey’s eyes. ‘You happy now?’

Terry’s screams as he lumbers towards Mickey, spitting out all the different ways he’s going to kill his son. Terry’s fist and Mickey’s face connect four times before Ian joins the fight and they destroy half the bar because at some point almost every guy inat the party dives in and as per usual the cops take forever to get there.

 

The blood on Mickey’s skin, his face, his arms, his torso. Throbbing pain in his own ribs and countless bruises all over their bodies. Ian is happy. Terry is gone and Mickey is out.

They’re free.

 

The guilt came later. It washed over him at Monica’s funeral, though he knows that it had been in the back of his mind for much longer, and hasn’t gone away since then along with all the other things he is so fucking sorry for.

He forced Mickey into this. He’s pretty sure Mickey doesn’t regret what he did on that day but Ian was the one who had pushed him to do it. Knowing that Terry would hurt and even kill him if he got the chance. Mickey’s injuries were his fault. The fact that Mickey had hit Ian before, had hurt him before, didn’t change that.

 

And he is sorry for so much more, for much worse shit he pulled. The break up in the front yard. Only one thing in Mickey’s eyes; pure and utterly heartbreak. He was all in, ready to fight for Ian, to fight _with_ Ian against the monster in his head, he had been fighting for months already. And Ian left.

‘Then get in the fucking car!’ still rings in his ears. And what did he do? He left again.

 

But this is over. All this shit is over and they’re here in Mexico. Together.

Mickey’s in his arms, save. No homophobic father, no more hiding, no unmedicated self going nuts, no prison walls, no borders, no distance. Freedom.

And together.


	7. Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey say goodbye to Mexico and come back to the South Side...

The next morning they’re woken up by someone banging the door open, storming into the room without knocking and a surprised gasp.

“The fuck!” Mickey groaned, slowly lifting his head while Ian was already sitting up staring at Mickey’s roommate.

“Oh, uhm sorry” Lilly said, looking beyond embarrassed by now as she obviously remembered that you can’t just run into someone else’s bedroom, let alone this early. Or maybe it was because her friend was laying in bed with another guy and the sheets only covered the absolutely necessary parts of them.

“Uh, just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready” she added, her head turning to the color of a tomato before she quickly walked out and closed the door behind her.

Ian grinned and Mickey groaned again.

“Ian, this is my stupid bitch of a roommate Lilly.”

His grin grew wider. She was more than just a roommate because Mickey would kill most people who would dare to barge into his room like Lilly just did. Mickey could deny it all he wanted but they were friends.

“Seems nice” he said, moving his hands down to Mickey’s torso. He added “Makes you breakfast and shit” before he dug his fingers into Mickey’s sides and his boyfriend started flailing around, cursing in ways that were beyond inappropriate and gasping with laughter, all at the same time because he was ticklish as fuck and Ian loved it. He agonized Mickey for a couple minutes but stopped before he would die because of laughing his ass off although Ian was tempted to continue as Mickey actually _giggled_.

It was weird and hard to believe how easily they slipped back into their old behavior. But it had always been like this. No matter how long they had been separated, how much had happened during their time away from each other, the second they met again it was like they had never been apart. It wasn’t any different now.

Because they fit together like puzzle pieces, make each other better, two souls always drawn to one another. Jesus, he sounded pathetic but it was true. Mickey is his soulmate.

 

“Come on, I’m fucking hungry and Lilly made us breakfast so we shouldn’t let her wait” he said as his stomach loudly rumbled. He had barely eaten during the last couple days due to a mind full of fear and hope and a person he had missed more than anything but now said person was right in front of him, cursing while struggling to put on a shirt, other needs were allowed again to make themselves noticeable.

The only problem was that his backpack with all his belongings was still in Lucy’s apartment and the clothes he had worn yesterday weren’t exactly the cleanest anymore.

“Would you-“ Ian started but Mickey had already opened his drawer and was searching through his clothes. “Probably too short for your long ass legs” he muttered, throwing a pair of sweats in Ian’s lap. Ian smiled. “Didn’t stop me from wearing your shit before” he answered and his smile turned into a grin that probably looked completely stupid but the corners of his mouth just went upwards as he remembered a day when he came home from work and found a sleeping Mickey on the couch, wearing a sweater with sleeves so long that his hands disappeared. Sharing clothes was just something they did or better; sharing in general was just something they did.

Ian put on a pair of boxers, the sweatpants that were indeed too short for him, and a shirt which fit pretty well since the muscles Mickey had built in prison were still there. He wasn’t super toned but his belly wasn’t as soft as it had been about two years ago and Ian knew why. Mickey had become harder. Had rebuilt some of the walls Ian had spend years tearing apart. Mickey had let him in again although Ian had incredibly hurt him and Ian knew that was because Mickey loved him. But he also knew that he still had to prove that he was worth it. That he deserved the chance Mickey had given him. Mickey probably didn’t even really know it himself but Ian did and he also _wanted_ to show Mickey. Wanted to show him what he meant to him.

 

“Thought you’re hungry, bitch” Mickey said, standing in the door frame, waiting for him because he was obviously taking too long.

“Coming” Ian replied and couldn’t resist the urge to press his lips against Mickey’s for a deep kiss before they went into the kitchen slash living room where Lilly was already sitting at the table, pouring maple syrup over the pancake on the plate in front of her.

 

“Took you long enough” was all she said, as they both slumped down onto the other chairs, and Mickey immediately stole the syrup bottle from her which earned him a raised middle finger.

Ian chuckled. They really were good friends. And at that thought he wondered how the hell they had met and become so close.

But before he found out more about that he figured he should probably introduce himself properly to Lilly, well, wearing clothes and all.

“Hey Lilly, nice to meet you” he said and felt pretty dumb for choosing such a boring phrase. Lilly’s raised eyebrow, she was almost as good as Mickey, didn’t help.

“We met twice already” she stated matter of factly and Ian could see Mickey’s grin in the corner of his eye.

And before Ian could say something else Lilly grinned as well. “But yeah, nice to meet you too.”

The rest of the breakfast was just Lilly and Mickey telling Ian about the life they had built here and Ian asking a thousand questions while at the same time he and Mickey were both trying to keep their hands off each other since there was a third person in the room. But apparently Lilly was pretty good at reading people because she quickly excused herself as soon as she finished eating, mumbling something about having to go to work.

 

“No sex in the kitchen” she warned before she left, “I mean it.” The front door slammed shut and Ian and Mickey were alone.

“She’s nice” Ian said around a mouthful of fluffy pancake.

Mickey nodded. “Yeah but curios and talkative as fuck.”

“You like her anyway.” Mickey mumbled something that Ian interpreted as “She’s alright” which was Mickey’s way of saying that he really liked someone.

“How did you meet?”

He regretted the question the second it left his mouth and Mickey’s gaze turned hard.

 

“Picked her up in the desert. Was all alone and I couldn’t leave her to freeze to death.” Ian stilled. The desert was in the North. Lilly and Mickey had met not long ago after Mickey had crossed the border.

“I have no fucking clue why but she wanted to stay with me and I guess I kinda started to like her at some point and we just… stuck together.” And it seemed like Mickey didn’t want to go on but the words slipped out anyway; “Guess I didn’t want to be alone.” It was quiet and Ian felt like a cold hand clenched around his heart. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Mickey, pulling him into a tight hug and in his lap. Mickey was straddling him now, their foreheads touching, eyes closed.

 

Ian closed the distance between their mouths into a long kiss, trying to put all his feelings into it, all the love he felt like his heart was bursting with, this love he felt for Mickey and that he could never explain properly. He had tried several times to pinpoint what exactly made it impossible for him to be happy without Mickey but had always failed whenever he had started an attempt to explicate the way he felt about Mickey to Lip and Fiona and Debbie. And now he came to the conclusion he had already assumed; there was no way to explain what he and Mickey had. No words, just feeling. Just love.

 

And it still hurt, Ian was still so in love, was even so much more in love than at their first kiss, that it hurt. In a fucked up, weird and wonderful way.

He held Mickey tighter, pressed their bodies together. And Ian slid his tongue into Mickey’s mouth and moved his hand up to the back of Mickey’s neck and pulled him even closer.

Yeah, for him home definitely isn’t a place. Home is Mick.

 

*

 

Mickey and Lilly left Mexico half a year after they had come here.

 

One morning Lilly showed up at the door of Antonio’s and my apartment and asked if she could hang out with us for a while because Mickey needed some alone time with the love of his life.

After I had almost choked on my coffee and Antonio had spent an entire minute tapping my back we all sat down on our couch and Lilly told us about the recent events in her and Mickey’s life.

According to her the name of the redhead, that had come into the bar two nights ago, was Ian and he was the reason for the loneliness and sadness in Mickey’s eyes which Lilly had thought only she had noticed but she was wrong, I had seen it too and I was pretty sure Antonio had as well.

 

She also told us about the documents she and Mickey had read and about this morning when she had come into Mickey’s room to wake him up and had found him and Ian together.

 

 

One week later Lilly and Mickey threw a little party at their place. A goodbye party. We had a great time, Lilly, Mickey, Ian, Antonio, Lucy who was a regular in my bar and a friend of Ian, and me.

 

The next day Mickey, Ian and Lilly left. We drove them to the airport and watched as they disappeared behind the security check. One flight to Chicago and one to Germany.

Lilly had decided to go back. To see her siblings again and maybe finish school, to get her life back on track.

And Ian and Mickey went back to South Side of Chicago.

 

During that week between the morning Lilly had told us the news and saying goodbye, I got to see a glimpse of what was between Mickey and Ian. Barely any PDA or drippy confessions of love. It was just them being together, looking at each other, brushing the other’s hand every once in a while, and an absolutely incredible nearness between them that was just impossible to overlook seeing them together. It was a kind of love I had never seen before.

 

*

 

“Liam, dinner is ready!” Fiona called, opening the oven and taking out the casserole with tonight’s supper, Mac n’ Cheese. She heard her little brother stomping down the chairs and sighed as she looked at the food. It was way too much for only three people.

She still struggled to give up the habit of cooking for a whole bunch of people since she had done that for so many years and she missed a Gallagher house full of people.

Sure, she was tired of taking care of everything and not getting anything done for herself and she was definitely glad that these days were over but that didn’t mean she wanted the house almost empty. Debbie and Frannie lived with Neil and Sierra, Carl was only home for the holidays and Ian, well, Ian was in Mexico looking for the guy he had fallen in love with when he was fifteen.

She had been more than surprised when Lip had told her about that. She had known that Ian and Mickey had been a secret for quite a while but she had never expected that they had been a thing for this long. Ian hadn’t texted since about a week and a half ago, telling her that he was in Mexico and okay but she tried not to worry too much. Ian had said that he didn’t know how often he would be able to charge his phone or find a phone booth but they had agreed that he would give them some kind of an update at least every two weeks so she hoped they would hear from him in a couple days.

Because as much as she trusted Ian by now that he had learned how to handle his disease there was always the chance that the bipolar took over so she tried to ignore the worry fogging her mind whenever she thought about Ian.

 

“Smells good” Lip said as he came from the living room where he had been studying for an upcoming exam. Somehow he had managed to go back to college, a different one and her brother put so much effort into it that Fiona sometimes wondered if this was the same guy she had yelled at a few years ago that he should get his shit together and finish the fuck high school.

“Did you wash your hands?” Lip asked Liam who was already sitting at the table waiting for the Mac n’ Cheese. He rolled his eyes but got up and washed his hands in the small bathroom next to the stairs. “You play responsible parent, you go wash your hands as well” Fiona said and put the casserole on the table. Lip flipped her off and reached for the food but she slapped his hand away.

Now it was Lip who rolled his eyes but he stood up and washed his hand at the kitchen sink.

 

When both her brothers had clean hands and everybody had food on their plates they were finally ready to eat but before Fiona could put the fork full of food into her mouth she heard the front door opening.

 

She looked up and saw Ian entering the living room. And behind him followed Mickey.

He looked almost the same as last time she had seen him, the only real difference was that the frown he had worn almost constantly because Ian had been a total mess, was a small smile now. And she felt a twitch in her guts as she saw how Mickey was almost timid, stepping closer to Ian like he felt really uncomfortable and not at home at all. Which was ridiculous after everything that had happened, she hadn’t really liked the idea at first but Mickey had become a part of the family a long time ago. He couldn’t be blamed for not really knowing that considering the fact that he hadn’t been here for about two years and especially with Terry Milkovich as a father. But Mickey was family and she couldn’t help the smile growing on her face as she watched Liam running towards her brother and his boyfriend, first hugging Ian and then Mickey who looked a bit taken aback at first but then patted Liam’s head. “Hey buddy. How are you?”

 

Whatever her youngest brother told him, Fiona didn’t hear it as she pulled Ian into a tight hug.

“Holy shit, that was fast” she whispered into his red hair and he chuckled. “Yeah. Incredible Gallagher luck.”

She pulled away and shot a questioning look at him. She wanted details but Ian mouthed “later” and Fiona was satisfied with that, at least for the moment, because now she let go of her brother and wrapped her arms around Mickey, completely ignoring his wince at their touch.

They had never hugged before and it was a little weird but after about two seconds Mickey relaxed a little and even hugged her back. Not really tight but still.

 

“Welcome home” she said softly and could feel him stiffen in her arms for a brief moment before he eased off again. He looked kind of relieved when she let go of him but the small smile on his face wasn’t gone.

 

“Hey, Mickey” Lip muttered. He was standing next to them since he had hugged Ian and Fiona thought that for the split of a second Lip seemed to contemplate hugging Mickey as well but settled against it which she was glad about because that wouldn’t have ended well. Instead Lip just nodded at Mickey and stated; “Good to have you back.”

And even though he tried to pull of a casual tone she knew that he meant it.

 

 _Good that old habits die hard_ she thought putting two more plates onto the table and filling them with food. And it really was good because Ian and Mickey both ate like they hadn’t got anything in days.

“Mexican food that shitty?” she asked, watching her brother shoving another fork with pasta into his mouth. “No, but this shit’s too good.”

Mickey just nodded because he was busy chewing and she grinned; “Good to hear that.”

And then Ian told them about Mickey’s and his time in Mexico and the friends they had made there while Mickey added something here and there. They didn’t mention anything about the way they had got back together and neither Liam nor Fiona and not even Lip were insensitive enough to ask. It was none of their business and that was okay. Ian was happy again, a constant smile on his face.

Not the too bright and too big one that they had all seen so often during unmedicated manic episodes, no, this smile was mainly in his eyes and just meant that Ian was really happy right now. And Fiona could see the same emotion in Mickey’s eyes.

 

*

 

Mickey’s old home, the Milkovich house of Horrors, looks exactly the same.

 

Ian hasn’t been here for more than two years but since the whole Milkovich family has gone to prison, got a family, left for New York or fucked off to god knows where, probably the only Milkovich sibling still living in the house is Iggy who is staring at them right now, after Mickey and Ian entered the gloomy living room. He was obviously eating corn out of the can but stopped when Mickey barged through the front door and now Ian is kind of fascinated how Iggy’s jaw slowly drops before he puts the can onto the table and moves forward, padding his little brother so hard on the shoulder that Ian flinches at the noise and then pinning him in a hug with more affection than Ian ever would have thought could exist between the members of the Milkovich family.

 

“When the hell did you get back?!” Iggy gasps and shoots a questioning look at Ian over Mickey’s shoulder. His gaze is full of surprise and joy but Ian can see something else in them too; _However you two got your shit together, if you fuck my little brother up again, I’ll fucking kill you._ He gives Iggy a slight nod. He gets the message. He’s not gonna fuck it up again. And it’s not because he knows that Iggy totally means it.

 

“Yesterday” is Mickey’s short answer, who’s still trapped in his brother’s arms before he adds; “You can let go of me now, this is getting weird, man.” Iggy obeys but playfully shoves Mickey’s head who responds by showing his finger with the U tattoo on his right hand.

One second later once again Mickey is being covered by a pair of arms. The hug doesn’t last long though but it’s a fucking milestone considering who said arms belong to.

 

“You look less like shit than last time I saw you” Svetlana says, thick russian accent and the famous arrogant smile on her lips. She throws a piercing look at Ian like she Is trying to figure out whether she can trust him or not. Apparently against Mickey’s belief there seem to be some people who actually care about him. At least in some way.

 

“Where is he? Can I see him?” Mickey asks, nervously eyeing his surroundings as if he’s scared that something will jump at him from behind. Someone. A little three year old boy.

 

“You give money so you give shit and therefore you can see him” Svetlana replies and Ian has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t step in and tells her that even if she doesn’t want Mickey to see Yev, she can’t forbid him to do so.

 

Mickey is a parent of Yev just like Svetlana is.

 

Ian can feel tears prickling in his eyes because Mickey looks so small and scared and hopeful all at the same time.

Svetlana disappears through the door of Terry’s old room and Iggy has made himself comfortable on the ratty couch, eating corn again, while Ian walks up to Mickey and puts an arm around his shoulder.

 

Ian hasn’t met Yevgeny for months now but it’s almost been two years since the last time Mickey saw his son and that was through the glass of the visiting booth in prison.

 

Mickey’s hand holds on to Ian’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He puts his own hand over Mickey’s and gently forces him to loosen his grip a little. And Ian has to swallow a sob as Mickey moves closer to him, trying to hide, searching for protection.

It makes Ian sick to know that Mickey is scared shitless of his own child but what’s more important is that he wanted to come here, he sent money when he was in Mexico. Like Svetlana said; Mickey gives shit. Mickey cares about his son, despite the way he was created.

 

Svetlana reappears in the door frame and Mickey stiffens in his arms.

In front of her there’s a toddler, blonde hair, walking  on short legs and looking up to them with blue eyes that couldn’t look more familiar to Ian. Yevgeny has the eyes of his dad.

 

It’s completely silent, aside from Iggy’s spoon scratching over the metal of the can, and Mickey is frozen, gaze focused on the little miracle standing in front of them.

 

“Hey.” Yevgeny’s voice sounds shy and curious at the same time.

“Hey” Mickey croaks out, voice hoarse and rough like abrasive paper. Ian grabs a hold of Mickey’s arms as his knees slightly give in.

 

“Mama says you’re my dad” Yevgeny says, staring at them with big eyes. His hair is a bit shorter than the last time Ian saw him and although it is blonde, but already getting darker, one can tell that one day the little guy will exactly look like his father.

“Is she right?” Yevgeny continues; “Or is she just saying that because I want a dad but I don’t have one and you’re here to act like one?”

 

Ian has to let go of Mickey as he crouches down to his son, hands clenched into fists and a hitch in his breath.

 

“Yeah, she’s right. I’m your dad.” Mickey’s voice is firm and certain in the beginning but fades into something barely audible at the last word.

 

And then Yevgeny steps forward, timid and oddly trusting at the same time, stepping towards Mickey and wrapping his short arms with tiny hands around him.

 

A breath Ian didn’t know he was holding in escapes his lungs and tears sting in the corners of his eyes.

 

And Mickey’s shoulders are shaking as he hugs his son back.

 

Soon, too soon, Svetlana breaks the moment and insists that Yev has to go to kindergarten and she got work.

Mickey looks like he’s barely holding it together, trying to sort out the mess of feelings rushing through him.

“Come back this afternoon” Svetlana soothes and Yevgeny starts to protest as she gently tugs him away from his dad.

“I can stay with dad and his friend while you work!”

Ian wipes a hand over his eyes and Svetlana smiles sadly. They both know that would be too much right now. For Yevgeny but even more for Mickey. He’s white as a eggshell and Ian is pretty sure his arm slung around Mickey’s shoulder is the only thing that keeps Mickey from losing it right now.

 

Svetlana mouths a ‘See you later’ at Ian and brushes her hand at Mickey’s cheek, giving him an encouraging smile.

 

And then Yev and his mom are gone and Iggy has fucked off into his room so Ian and Mickey are alone.

“You okay?” Ian asks and immediately punches himself internally. Like the answer to this question could actually be yes.

The only response he gets is a sharp inhale from Mickey and a shift in his body. Mickey’s eyes are damp and Ian knows he’s about ten seconds away from crashing down.

Ian can see the realization in Mickey’s eyes. The realization that he can start over now.

No Terry. No mania. No Monica. No prison. No borders. No Ian leaving.

Chicago. Yevgeny. Ian.

Ian watches Mickey realizing that he has a real future.

 

He turns and wraps his arms around Mickey who presses his face into the crook of Ian’s neck, finally letting his tears fall. Mickey is strong, stronger than anyone else Ian knows, has survived every bomb that was thrown at him.

But there’s only so much someone can take.

And Mickey lets go, lets down his guard because now there’s someone who cares, someone to take over. Ian’s hands grip tightly at Mickey’s back, Mickey’s fists buried into his shirt.

“Hey” he says, his voice quiet; “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Mick. I’ve got you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I wanted to upload this yesterday but my internet didn't work so I couldn't. But here is chapter 7 and it's the last one at least for the moment.  
> Please let me know what you think of it and if you would read more of this story.


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